


unfinished wip baby jail

by superbcandyangel



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Hamilton - Miranda, Heathers (1988), Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety Attacks, Breathing Exercises, Canon Era, Coming Out, Crack Treated Seriously, Crying, Cuddling and Snuggling, Date Rape, Discussion of Boundaries, Explicit Sexual Content, Fire Lord Ozai's A+ Parenting, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Frenemies, Frenemies with Benefits, Frottage, Grief/Mourning, Hamilton has a pain kink, Hate Sex, Hickeys, Homophobia, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I'll tag it anyway, Identity Issues, Implied Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced BDSM, Implied/Referenced oral sex, Infidelity, Jet has PTSD, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Minor Slurs, Mostly Canon Compliant, Mutual Pining, One Night Stand, Open Relationships, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Pet Names, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Smoking, Smut, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide, Survivor Guilt, Trauma, Triggers, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism, Zuko has PTSD, before Alex knows what's happening enough to be into it, can we call it dubcon if Laf is just extremely forward, coda fic, everyone does it's a worldwide war zone, like borderline forcefully so, mild dubcon, on Zuko's end at least, one night stand to frenemies with benefits to lovers, sex as self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superbcandyangel/pseuds/superbcandyangel
Summary: fragments of stories I never finished, at varying degrees of completionsome of these are fairly old and don't necessarily reflect my current style or skill, but I worked hard and I'm proud enough still to want people to read themfeaturing: my very dumb notes [in brackets] that I find very funny
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Aaron Burr, Alexander Hamilton/Everyone, Alexander Hamilton/George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton/James Madison, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson/George Washington, Everyone/Everyone, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/Hercules Mulligan, Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Jonathan Bellamy/Aaron Burr, Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Thomas Jefferson/George Washington, Thomas Jefferson/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Thomas Jefferson/James Madison, Thomas Jefferson/John Adams
Kudos: 11





	1. Don't 'Night Moves' Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last updated (excluding epilogue): 12.15.18
> 
> a few months ago I might've felt bad about posting unfinished work but this still has a more comprehensive conclusion than the show did
> 
> -
> 
> Rating: Explicit
> 
> Fandom: Supernatural
> 
> Category: M/M
> 
> Tags: Major Character Death, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Angst, Coda Fic, mostly canon compliant, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Grief/Mourning, Alcohol, Frenemies with Benefits, Frenemies, one night stand to frenemies with benefits to lovers, One Night Stand, Hickeys, Crying, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Public Sex, Cuddling and Snuggling, Trauma, Triggers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Discussion of Boundaries

**Tall Tales pt. 1**

Notes:

_We weren't in love, oh no far from it  
We weren't searchin' for some pie in the sky summit  
We were just young and restless and bored  
Livin' by the sword_

The last inklings of evening light trickled through the dusty window, falling along the seats and giving them a rosy glow to match his own. His hair just barely shaded his eyes from the blinding sun as it loomed behind the Ohio skyline. He turned into the parking lot. The crackling of shifting gravel echoed through the otherwise silent space and he shifted into park.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair compulsively, sighing in frustration and slumping his head against the steering wheel. Not only had Dean kicked him out, he'd managed to leave without having reclaimed his wallet. He couldn't sleep in a stolen car, he had at least known that much, and he had about ten dollars to his name stashed in his coat pocket. He'd reluctantly decided to take a leaf out of his brother's book, setting off toward the nearest bar. Surely someone would be drunk, dumb, or horny enough to take him home for the night.

Ideally, all three.

His head still buzzing from the confrontation, he made his way to the only empty seat at the counter. It was bordered on both sides by people deep in conversation, a spot he would've coveted on any other day. Sam pulled the crumpled bill out of his pocket, flicking his tongue across his lower lip, and requested a bourbon. He glanced around, unsure what exactly he was searching for, and nearly jumped when a familiar voice stood out against the others.

To his right sat the attractive custodian who'd shown them around the victim's room, in arguably more glory than their past meeting. His brown hair shone almost golden in the dim bar lighting, and his loose fitting uniform had been traded for an olive green jacket which hugged his sloping shoulders. The way the collar fell on the nape of his neck beneath honeyed curls made Sam's breath hitch in his throat.

Washing down his shock with alcohol, he steadied his overeager lungs. Something daring — more than likely, a mix of nerves and early intoxication — possessed him to tap the man on the shoulder. He immediately regretted the decision. Ventricles twisted themselves into knots and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Sam was sure he'd either pass out or bolt if he didn't respond soon, and his heart seemed to be ticking down the seconds until one of the two happened.

Moments later the janitor spun the seat to face him with a loud squeak, and his gaze trailed incrementally from Sam's shoulders until they locked onto amber eyes. An eyebrow quirked upwards and a half smile making its way across his cheek, he gave a small chuckle. "Sam, right? Didn't expect you to hang in a place like this."

"Yeah, I guess I'm full of surprises."

He grinned and motioned to the bartender, his focus never leaving the taller man. The woman he'd been talking to seemed indignant that Sam had stolen the attention away from her. "Drinks are on me. I don't recall formally introducing myself — it's Gabriel, by the way–" he leaned back to grab both of their glasses, the stretch revealing a hint of skin below the hem of a blood red buttondown.

"–Gabe, to your friends?" Sam ventured, offering a tight chuckle.

The wink he yielded in response made Sam grip his a little tighter.

"So what brings you here?" Gabriel ventured, sipping from his glass, "I suppose it's not for the Purple Nurples."

The hunter returned his hand to his hair and laughed nervously. "Well my, uh, buddy kicked me out of the room, told me not to come back until his tires were fixed, and I was stupid enough to leave my wallet in there." He saw the other man raise his eyebrows and take a significantly longer drink. "Didn't touch his car, but he doesn't believe me, so I don't exactly have a place to stay-"

"Say no more. My apartment is just up the street," Gabriel interrupted.

Sam's heart rate spiked. "Oh, no dude it's fine, I wouldn't want to-"

"You're staying with me."

There was something a little too determined in the man's eyes now, but he couldn't quite place it. "Alright, if you're sure it's okay."

"Absolutely. Hold on–" he set down his cup and turned back to the woman he'd been flirting with earlier. His hand stayed firmly in front of Sam, keeping his attention perhaps more than it should have. To counter this, he downed his own drink in the time it took Gabriel to say, "Hey, Layla, could we take a rain check? My friend here needs the space tonight."

Clearly disinterested, she muttered a hasty, "Yeah, sure," and stared blankly into her glass.

Gabriel pushed a few bills toward the woman behind the counter and slid off the barstool, sauntering to the door and waggling his eyebrows in a mockery of a smug look. Sam laughed softly and followed the man out, not sure what exactly to expect.

-

The door had barely closed when Sam picked him up with ease, Gabriel yelping at the sudden lift. He wrapped his legs tightly around the toned waist and carded his fingers through auburn hair as they kissed fiercely. His back met the wall with a low thud. Their lips finally separated, if only for a moment, and they both panted quietly. The shorter let his head fall against the doorframe as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Haven't done this in a while, Sammy?"

Sam's gaze darkened. Snapshots flashed before his eyes of Jess, her hips fitting so perfectly in his hands, her skin tender as– God, had it really been over a year? He bit his lip a little too hard and looked anywhere but the other's face, not finding it in himself to make eye contact. A forced smile made its way onto his face. His tongue laved over the area, sure to bruise tomorrow, before he took a breath and steeled himself once more.

She wouldn't want him hung up like this. The act of sex — of chasing desperate, pleading orgasms together, of rough kisses, sighing against someone's mouth as they tensed in overwhelming pleasure — didn't belong to his dead girlfriend.

"Shut up," he almost growled.

"Touchy subject, I'm sorr- Ah!"

Deceptively soft lips attached themselves to Gabriel's neck, surely breaking a few capillaries in his newfound ferocity. Blood was rushing into every corner of his body, blurring his vision and sparking arousal with the friction between his hips and the other's. Sam left marks across his throat to his collarbone, each stinging beautifully as he pressed sloppy kisses to every inch of bare skin he could reach. Moans escaped Gabe's lips, still glossy with saliva, as every touch became electric, before Sam quickly found no more available space to work with.

Gabriel unwound his hands from the lengthy locks just long enough to let his jacket be pulled off and thrown aside. He smirked and used one hand to cup Sam's face, grabbing his attention.

"As much as I enjoy seeing you show off your strength holding me up here, what do you say we take this into the other room? This'd be a bit easier horizontal."

This brought a quiet chuckle from Sam, and he slung Gabe over his shoulder to emphasize his own point. With the wind half knocked out of him, though he didn't much care, he was carried across the bedroom threshold and cast onto the mattress, his eyes reuniting with deep hazel ones. He flashed a soft smirk.

Sam immediately started back in, hands roaming over Gabriel's torso as the latter worked hastily to rid himself of his shirt. After struggling past the first two buttons he grunted, mumbling, "Oh, fuck this," and tearing the rest open. One pinged off his lamp with a quiet clink. This got him a laugh and a pair of raised eyebrows.

He reached up to pull Sam back in for a crushing kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperation. Gabriel's arms draped themselves to rest in the dip of the hunter's back, guiding him between his spread legs, grinding against him ever so slightly. He could feel Sam groan faintly against his lips, slipping one hand under the waistband of his jeans and using the other for the finer motor skills of unbuttoning and unzipping.

Gabriel gasped and sighed as he felt his cock freed and promptly enveloped in a warm hand. He bit his lip and, eyes fluttering closed, he choked out, "Shit, ah- yes, Sammy–"

Sam gave just enough movement to keep him on edge as he removed his own clothes, Gabriel whimpering when he had to retreat to toss his shirt alongside his pants in the corner. He returned to the bed to pin the other beneath him, pressing a kiss to his lips before traveling down his jaw and collar.

He slid down Gabe's body to bring himself eye level with his dick. He glanced up to his face and, not breaking eye contact, latched his lips gently around the head. The touch was agonizingly soft. It was all Gabriel could do to keep from slamming his hips into the tender mouth, though his back arched fiercely beyond his control. Sam smirked silently before proceeding.

"Fuck- ah, Sammy, god yes," Gabe breathed as he began to bob further along his cock.

Hands found Gabriel's waist and held him to the bed, coaxing whimpers from his throat. Sam's thumbs, rough to the touch yet exceedingly gentle, began tracing circles into the dips of his pelvis. He drove his tongue through the slit, tasting precome as it dribbled out and sending stars to the other's eyes. Gabe's nails dug desperately into his scalp when the hunter brushed repeatedly against the underside of the head, bringing one hand to begin giving feather-light strokes to the seam of his cock.

"Shit- just– just like that, _fuck_ , yes."

Sam put a fraction more pressure into the touches and heard Gabriel mewl in pleasure. He let the head of his cock rub against the roof of his mouth as he suppressed his gag reflex to take him deeper.

"More- fuck, please," Gabe was begging, babbling between moans and sighs.

He wrapped his fingers fully around the base of his cock now, pushing his tongue in hard strokes along the seam. His own dick perked in attention at a particularly loud string of pleading obscenities, and he dropped his other hand to curl a fist around it. He began to thrust his hips as he listened to Gabriel's vulgar, wanton urging — faster, harder, yes, please. He hummed contentedly around the cock in his mouth. This brought the man's hips rocketing toward him, aching for more.

"Ah, fuck- Sam I'm gonna come, so close- fuck, so good-" he choked out before hitting his climax with a strangled gasp.

Somewhere a few towns over, an apartment building found every lightbulb on the premises shattered to dust. When his vision returned from its chalky yellow haze, he tentatively released the death grip he'd been holding on Sam's hair. It stuck out at odd angles, having set between his fingers, and it filled Gabriel with an overwhelming sense of pride.

Sam pulled his mouth off of Gabe's cock, meeting his glassy eyes and slowly and deliberately licking residual cum from his lips. The archangel was sure he could've had a thousand more orgasms just watching him do this, but he settled for a breathy, "Hah.."

A cautious smile grew on Sam's face. "Was that any good?"

Gabriel laughed quietly in disbelief. "Good? Fuck, Sam do you really have to ask?"

He motioned for Sam to come closer, guiding his body to hover over him. He kissed him softly, taking a few moments to roam his hands over tan skin, before pressing gently on his chest to mark a reluctant separation.

"Amazing, Sammy — it was fucking amazing."

Sam gave a chuckle which quickly became a low whine when Gabriel moved his hand to idly stroke his dick. He raised his eyebrows at the other man, still grinning, before settling once more into pressing kisses to his neck with a comfortable sigh. They stayed like this for a while, the hunter reveling in having nowhere urgent to be and nothing to do but enjoy Gabe's presence.

Gabriel set into a slow rhythm, keeping time with Sam's lips. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as the hunter combed a hand through his hair, listening to the soft whimpers escaping. The kisses turned for a moment into desperate, passionate bites. He was sure a few more would turn into bruises come morning. He leaned into the touch, thumbing across Sam's slit and feeling the gasp more than hearing it.

"F- fuck, Gabe," he murmured, breaking from the mauve blotch he was sucking into his clavicle to kiss the edges of his mouth.

Through the feverish pecks, he caught Sam's attention with a hand on his cheek. "Lube. Top drawer on your right."

Sam nodded hastily and reached to retrieve the small bottle. He sucked in a sharp breath at the cold gel coating his dick, but quickly that became labored breathing as Gabriel resumed with a new vigor. His hand slid easily along the shaft now, twisting and squeezing, Sam already hard enough to hurt.

"Just like that, Gabe, ah–" he grunted, rutting desperate and hard into Gabriel's fist– "please, fuck-"

There came no response, but he caught his lips in a soft kiss, tightening his grip. Gabriel reached his free hand up to card his fingers through Sam's hair. The rhythmic panting as the hunter lost himself in the pleasure was downright beautiful.

Sam's hips jerked forward as he came, ejaculate leaking onto both of their stomachs, with a halting sigh. He drew close to Gabe's neck before being gently shoved away in the interest of grabbing tissues. He laughed to himself at the small frown Gabriel made as he cleaned himself off. His own cleaning was punctuated with a chaste kiss, followed by several less so. He smiled against his lips and fell against the pillows.

"God, that was.. everything I needed. Everything and so much more. Fuck, Gabe."

"Well, I'm glad I could help. Always happy to be of service-"

Sam groaned and rolled onto his side, still facing the man. "No, Gabe- fuck, I'm sorry, I've just been so wound up lately, since I've been–" He hesitated, glancing at the man's carefully maintained smile– "moved around a lot, this past year or so-"

Gabriel cut him off with a fond kiss, combing through the back of his hair soothingly. "It's okay, you really don't have to explain yourself to me. You're here, you've got yourself a moment's break from it all, and that's what matters."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You don't need to be." He pushed a lock behind Sam's ear with a complex expression on his face, but meeting his eyes with unblinking determination. "You should sleep, you probably haven't done that in a while."

Sam smiled guiltily, heaved a sigh, and nestled himself into the crook of Gabe's neck. A hand found his and wove their fingers together before bliss-soaked exhaustion overcame them both.

-

"One night together and we're already disgustingly domestic, aren't we?"

Sam laughed softly, nuzzling closer to Gabriel's bruise-speckled neck. "We should get up," he murmured, making absolutely no move to do so, "I might be missed-" a quick peck landed on the delicate skin between collarbone and muscle- "back with Dean."

"Doubtful." Gabe said with a light chuckle. He rolled to face Sam, taking tender lips in his own and sliding a hand down to the small of his back. They stayed like this for a few minutes, lazily wandering each other's mouths until Gabriel pulled away. "Want me to make breakfast?"

"Will it be loaded with sugar?"

"Only if you ask nicely."

-

**Tall Tales pt. 2**

Notes:

_Workin' on mysteries without any clues  
Workin' on our night moves  
Tryin' to make some front page drive-in news_

Sam's heart sank as he felt the door latch back into place. He made no move to hide when he heard footsteps approaching. Heaving a quiet sigh, he turned to face the man. He leaned heavily against the locker.

"You know, I've never heard of the trickster god Gabriel."

He laughed humorlessly. "Cutting right to the chase, huh?" His forehead crinkled as he raised his eyebrows, considering Sam's deadpanned query and determinedly making eye contact with a single loose screw in the bench. It began to spin of its own accord. "I've been called a lot of names, most of which even you can't pronounce. You've heard of Loki, yeah?"

Sam nodded silently. He bit hard into his lower lip watching the screw slowly tighten into place. A moment longer was spent in silence before the other spoke again.

When he finally met his gaze, it was with tears welling in his eyes. "I know this can't be simple like before, but.. God, I wish it could be," he said, his voice soft and wavering. His head was spinning. "It's stupid, I know, but-"

He was cut off by an arm squeezing tight around his shoulders. He hadn't realized Sam had sat down. A few quiet sobs escaped him before he turned to press his face into his chest. Sam rubbed soothing circles into his back, stroking his hair and swaying just the slightest bit.

A bleak chuckle came from below his chin. "You gave me a nickname the second time we ever spoke, for fuck's sake," he shifted to glance up at Sam, "And I loved it. It sounded so good, so.. simple, coming from you, none of the baggage that comes with anything else people call me. I could just be Gabe with you."

"It's okay, you're okay," Sam murmured, cradling Gabe's head against himself as he felt him struggle for breath through the tears.

"You're a hunter, you came here to stop me. To kill me."

Sam didn't have a response for that.

-

He stuck his head out the door and told Dean, "I'll catch up. I think I left something here."

The other hunter nodded gruffly, and Sam grimaced slightly as the door closed behind him. He flicked his tongue over his lip and his teeth soon followed suit, a pang of uncertainty stinging his chest. He inhaled deeply. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he traipsed back down the aisle until he reached the empty space the trickster's supposed corpse had been. "I see that your hickeys are gone."

Gabriel stepped out from the shadows, grinning ear to ear. He bounced toward Sam and propped a hand against the nearest chair before feigning an innocent expression.

"Well, we wouldn't want your brother thinking I get more action than he does. I do, but that's beside the point."

"Huh," Sam gave a small chuckle before glancing toward the crimson bed. He paused for a moment and met Gabe's eyes. Even in the darkened auditorium they shone like blinding sunlight through whiskey, giving new strength to his asking, "Want me to put them back?"

"Oh hell yes."

Gabriel delighted in allowing himself to be pinned roughly to the velvety red mattress, tipping his head back to give Sam access. As his neck was attended to, he mumbled soft whispers of encouragement, stretching his arms to lay loosely above his head to entice him to a position of leverage. This got him a low hum of recognition before his wrists were taken in a single powerful hand.

The other hand was working to remove his and Gabe's clothes. It was a slow, messy effort, but soon enough he managed to get them into a pile at the foot of the bed. Satisfied with the results, he crawled above the small yet sturdy body in front of him. He ghosted kisses across his chest before returning to suck a few pale blotches along his throat. The newly freed hand snaked down to seek out Gabriel's hole. Sam was only mildly surprised to find it already wet and loosened. He pulled back a few inches to admire his handiwork on the man's collar, circling his rim tentatively.

Breathlessly, blushing profusely, the shorter of the two responded to the unasked question, "Ah- stretched, lubed and ready for you, Sammy," breath hitching in his throat at the scant stimulus.

"You've been waiting for this, haven't you?" Sam murmured into his ear, laughing tenderly.

"Like you haven't."

This earned Gabriel a gentle bite to his earlobe and a dark hickey directly behind it, at which point he was utterly swooning. He wrapped his legs around Sam's hips, desperate for contact. The hunter chuckled. "Fine. If you're so eager."

He put more force into his grip on Gabe's wrists as he pushed his hardening cock past rings of muscle. Sometime in the midst of that, his other hand wove its way into the man's toffee-toned hair. Sensation sparked in his stomach as his hole fluttered around him, trying to regain his bearings and failing spectacularly. He set his head into the crook of his clavicle and began to move in and out of him.

Despite the slow pace, already Gabriel's breathing was interspersed with whimpers, quick and shallow. He squeezed what he could of Sam's hand in time with his thrusts, biting back groans.

"Ah, Sammy- fuck, just go faster, please-" he choked out.

Sam remained silent, busying himself with a particularly sensitive part of Gabe's neck, but answered in a sharp acceleration and an adjustment of his hips. Rolling his thrusts upward, he found his prostate with some difficulty and began putting more force into the act.

This received a loud series of obscenities, paired with elated gasps. Gabriel writhed against the embroidered bedding. His hands, held tightly in place by Sam's, curled into fists as he moaned. His legs hitched further up, calves pressed to Sam's ribs. The change allowed the hunter to brush against his prostate with nearly every move he made.

"So big– fuck, feels so fucking good Sammy–"

He began to grind back against Sam, matching each plunge of his cock with a snap of his hips and an accompanying moan, high pitched, breathy. He dug his nails against his palm, leaving faint marks. His eyes closed, allowing the waves of pleasure to wash over him.

A rhythm of small 'ah's fell from Gabriel's lips. He grasped at the hands, clenched as they were, around his wrists, looking to ground himself as Sam's cock drilled into him. Sam ran his tongue over a particularly deep bruise and proceeded to trace it up to his earlobe. Gabe groaned softly, getting rather louder when his neglected dick was finally taken in a hand slick with saliva.

"Fuck, so good. Not – ah – gonna last long if you keep- FUCK, please, Sam, harder!"

A firm bite to the neck sent Gabriel over the edge, tightening around his cock and coming with a wretched cry. Sam's vision went blurry at the sudden stimulus, and it took only a few more thrusts before he was spilling into his hole. 

He collapsed onto the scarlet mattress, his sigh of fatigue broken by a soft laugh as the smaller man promptly flipped them over so he was poised above. A victorious smile tugged at Gabe's lips before they brushed the other's. Their mouths moved lazily, in comfortable silence, before a question hit Sam.

"We both know you can snap our clothes away, why do you insist on doing this the hard way, of all things?"

Gabriel hummed, tracing the hunter's bottom lip slowly before responding. "Because – I love – to watch you undress me," he purred, punctuating every few words with a tender kiss. His gleaming cognac eyes peered into Sam's with a strange softness. It took only seconds, though, to be replaced by a mischievous twinkle. "Plus, I know your brother's just seething out there, and I wanted to keep him waiting a little longer."

"Such a romantic." The hunter smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to Gabe's nose.

"Mm," he said, smirking, "Now, who do I have to kill to see you again?"

-

"Hundred bucks says they're screwing like there's no tomorrow."

"You think I can stand to lose that kind of money?" Bobby barked. His expression softened, muttering, "Let him have his fun. His girlfriend friggin' died in front of him last year, least we can do is let him get past it."

Dean exhaled sharply, cocking his head and glaring out the windshield. "Yeah, yeah. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No, you don't. Just don't be an asshole about it — it's not like you're so much better."

"Well at least I'm not fucking around with monsters we were supposed to have killed."

The elder hunter chuckled cynically. "Right, you've just walked out on every partner you've ever had. So noble."

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Shut up, Bobby-"

"Here he comes. Try and act civil, will you?"

-

**Mystery Spot pt. 1**

Sam awoke to a click from the nearby clock before the song started.

_I never meant to be so bad to you  
One thing I said that I would never do  
A look from you and I would fall from grace  
And that would wipe this smile right from my face_

_Do you remember when we used to dance?  
And incident arose from circumstance  
One thing lead to another, we were young  
And we would scream together songs unsung-_

It ceased after a few heedless smacks, and Sam lay there in the dreary morning light as he listened to Dean's usual, "Rise and shine, Sammy!" now the only sound in the room save for the muffled clunks and shufflings of clothing as his brother dressed himself.

Another Tuesday.

-

"Hey, kiddo," came a warm voice, "Your hair's gotten longer since Crawford Hall."

Sam looked up to see the man from the diner, now leaning against the fence, slowly morph into a familiar face. Grey hair began to curl past the nape and glistened a deep blonde. His chin evened out, losing its strong cleft, his smile smug. Signature golden eyes peered back at him, as intoxicating as ever.

Hurriedly shoving his laptop off his knee and onto the cement, he sprung to pin Gabriel against the wall — which did absolutely nothing to curb the gleeful laughter from the shorter man. Dexter Hasselback's Favorite Movies were left discarded.

"Really, Sam? Not even a greeting for your old mistress? I thought I was a better lay than that." His smirk was maddening. The fleeting thought crossed his mind to put those lips to better use. Gabriel cocked his head and his grin widened.

"Yeah? That was before you killed my brother a hundred times over. You move past the formalities pretty damn quick."

His smile faded slightly. "Fair enough."

Sam closed his eyes, trying to steady his breath, his racing, beating heart. The other's face fell further.

"It's going to be pretty hard to kill me without a stake, y'know," he said quietly, with a halfhearted sneer.

"It was pretty hard to kill you with one."

Gabriel chuckled. "Touché."

"Besides," he said, "there are better ways to pass the time."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, are there?"

"I think so."

With this, Sam dropped a hand to palm him roughly through the loose trousers, tucking his head into the crook of his jaw when the area presented itself. Soft whimpers fell from Gabriel's lips. 

"Out in the open, Sammy, really? I didn't take you for a kinky fucker like that- ah, fuck that's good, right there.."

Sam hummed as he grazed his teeth against the other's neck. "This is your loop, Gabe — if someone walks up on us, that's your exhibitionism talking."

"B- bite me, Samsquatch."

"Love you too."

He felt blood rush to his face and chose to believe it was arousal. His only response was to slip his fingers into Sam's hair and pull hard, curling his hands into fists and scrunching his eyes shut as he moaned. The hunter responded enthusiastically, gentle nipping quickly becoming more forceful. He was certain that some were bruising — his dick twitched at the thought. Gabriel snapped his head back against the fence, breathing ragged as he felt the metal lightly scrape at his scalp.

Sam took this opportunity to rid the other of his belt and jacket. They slid off easily; Gabriel's suddenly smaller form was ill fit for the large clothes. The waistband of his boxers provided only moderate resistance when he slipped a hand under it. He ran two fingers over his hole a few times before he felt significantly less friction. Pulling back slightly, he received only a wink and a small smirk.

He chuckled and ran his tongue along his lower lip before returning his mouth to the man's collarbone. When Sam plunged two fingers briskly into him, Gabriel melted into his arms. Vulgarities became litany as he grasped desperately at the hunter's jacket shoulder, one hand still firmly planted in his hair and both anchoring him while his prostate was assailed.

"Fuck- ah, Sam."

"You like that?" Sam's voice came out hoarse into his ear.

He keened into the sound. "God, just- please, Sammy-"

Gabriel let out a pleading whine when he felt fingers crook into the bundle of nerves within him. His knees shook with the struggle to hold himself upright. He held tighter, yet tighter onto the other's arm while Sam pushed rapidly into him, out of him. His hips flew back against each thrust, desperate for more. He could feel heat pooling in his stomach, so close, so so close-

Sam pulled back to kiss him once and his hand stilled. Looking him over, he licked his lips. "I should just leave you like this. You'd deserve it, making me watch my brother die- what is it, 73 times now?"

The sudden halt left Gabriel whimpering, shaking, his breathing unsteady. "Wh- fuck, Sam, please."

"I really should. You don't deserve to get off on my hand, much less my dick. I could take my fingers out of you right now–" he prodded Gabriel's prostate sharply, earning a broken moan– "leave you here, begging?"

Gabriel gasped quietly when Sam slipped his other hand under his clothes as well, beginning to stroke along his happy trail. He furrowed his brow and tried to ignore the teasing touches making his head spin.

"Y-you won't," he whispered, hard enough it was beginning to hurt.

"And why do you say that?"

Gabriel smiled slightly, still fighting for breath. "You're still here, aren't you?"

He raised his eyebrows as he considered Gabe's response, his eyes airily averted. "I suppose I am," he said, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he returned to meet the whiskey gaze. "God help me, I really am."

Sam brought a crashing kiss to Gabriel's mouth, the latter entangling both hands now into his hair to pull him deeper. His brow furrowed as their lips moved together, eyes closing once more and immersing himself in the scent of iron and Tabasco and motel soaps.

Nails dragged against scalp, Sam sliding his fingers out of Gabe to clutch any part of his clothes within reach, residual lube seeping into the fabric. He held him closer, nearing possessive. The way Gabriel moaned against his mouth was fucking perfect.

A snap echoed from somewhere behind his head. The wind raged against his ears for a moment before he found himself back in his motel room, still pressed against Gabe, now pinning him between the table and wall. He silently pulled away, halting just inches from his face, pupils blown with frenzied lust. Gabriel gave him precisely no time to adapt to the change of scenery.

He grabbed Sam firmly by his flannel collar, looked him in the eyes, and told him, "I want you to bend me over this table and fuck me 'till I can't move."

Sam let out a hoarse groan and his lips collided once again with Gabriel's, already working at the buttons of his shirt. His hands roamed frantically as he panted against his open mouth. The buttondown was thrown aside and the trousers kicked into a corner

Gabriel groaned under his breath when Sam pushed past his rim; Sam himself shuddered at the feeling. He bit hard into his lip as he let Gabe adjust to the intrusion.

"Enjoying the view, Sammy?"

Sam bit back a laugh, placing a hand to steady himself against Gabriel's back before finally bottoming out. "Can you blame me? Fucking gorgeous, stretched out over my cock like that."

He heard a soft whine in response– "God, I love it when you talk dirty like that–" and with this he began to move.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, ye-es," Gabe drawled, ending on a loud moan. He gripped the table's edge harder as Sam pounded into him.

"Harderharder–" a small gasp as Sam struck his prostate– "Ngh, fuck, Sammy."

[talk about how Dean died today?]

-

"Gabe?"

"Yeah?" His voice was gruff with overuse. He could've gotten drunk off the sound alone. "What is it, Sammy?"

"You know I didn't really mean it," he began slowly, "When I said you didn't deserve-"

He heard a soft chuckle. "No, you were right. You were absolutely right. I made you relive 73 installments of a Choose Your Own Trauma book — I don't deserve you."

Sam was quiet for a moment. He felt Gabriel shuffling beside him, seemingly rolling away from him, and caught him before he got out of arm's reach. He guided him to lay his head on his chest, running his fingers through Gabe's hair once he settled. "You never do anything without a reason. It's... late, and I'm not asking you to explain yet, I just- I didn't want you thinking I really believed all those things."

A moment was spent in sleepily stunned silence. Gabriel laughed quietly, uncertainly, before stretching a cautious arm to wrap around Sam's torso. His hand came to rest gently on his hip. "Goodnight, Sam."

"'Night, Gabe."

Notes:

_And oh the wonder  
We felt the lightning  
And we waited on the thunder  
Waited on the thunder_

-

**Mystery Spot pt. 2**

Sam awoke to a click from the nearby clock before the song started.

_I never meant to be so bad to you  
One thing I said that I would never do  
A look from you and I would fall from grace  
And that would wipe this smile right from my face_

_Do you remember when we used to dance?  
And incident arose from circumstance  
One thing lead to another, we were young  
And we would scream together songs unsung-_

Sam reached to hit the radio, not too bothered to open his eyes, but stopped when the stretch left a shock of cold at his side. Squinting now against the late morning light, he took in his surroundings. Soft yellow light poured in through the drapes. One of two pillows which would usually be underneath his head was now set to the side. This seemed unnecessary, however, considering that Gabe was sleeping perfectly content on his chest. He glanced over, a drowsy, dulled fear arising that Dean might have something to say about his present sleeping arrangements.

He sat up promptly, Gabriel's head slipping unceremoniously off his chest, which was beginning to fill with panic at the sight of an empty bed.

"Where's Dean?" He demanded.

"Well, good morning to you too," Gabriel's voice was muffled by the blankets his face was now buried in. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, golden hair tousled from the night before.

The night before.

"Answer me."

Gabe groaned softly and sighed. "I took the liberty of removing unnecessary elements from the equation," he mumbled before propping himself up on an elbow and clarifying, "It's just us here."

"What did you do with him?"

The shorter man blinked slowly and raised his eyebrows before responding, "Relax, Sam. He's waking up next to the girl with the missing posters, slightly delirious, with a hangover headache. Typical Tuesday morning for him." His lip quirked up slightly. "A little kinder than I've been to him lately, huh?"

The shock faded and Sam sank tentatively back to the mattress, taking a slow breath as Gabriel traced his fingers across his chest. His gaze was soft, trained on his own hand and seemingly deep in thought. He let his eyes flutter closed, following the faint sensation of chaste touches and allowing it to soothe him.

"Sorry," he said quietly, "I just- I don't know."

"What, worried I'd be gone by morning?"

Sam grinned sheepishly. "A little, yeah."

He rose slightly to capture Gabriel's lips in his own, feeling them part for him. They kissed gently, minutes passing without notice. The sheets rumpled as Gabe crawled to give him easier access to his mouth. He traced Sam's lower lip with his tongue and smiled at the contented hum that received.

Gabriel sighed, laughing softly against Sam's face. "I–" he started– "Sam, I hope you know I wouldn't do that."

"You'd mess with your own time loop just to wake up next to me? How sweet."

"I'd do a lot more than that for you, Samshine," he said, voice drizzled in intent. He moved to straddle Sam's thighs, sitting back to flash him a smirk.

Sam scrunched his face in a mock grimace. "You ruined it."

Gabriel furrowed his brow, playing along. "I did no such thing."

This got him an, "Oh yeah?" before Sam rolled them over, pinning Gabe beneath him and capturing his lips in a series of fleeting kisses. Gabriel giggled, his arms coming to rest comfortably around Sam's waist. He locked his ankles at the crook of his knees and squeezed lightly.

Sam's eyes were drawn suddenly to a variety of blotches on Gabriel's neck, ranging in color from barely red to a deep indigo. The sight filled him with a strange mix of pride and concern, and this must have shown on his face because Gabe held him a little tighter and his laugh grew a little softer.

"Like what you see, Sammy?" he said, tipping his head back to show them off.

"Did- are those all from me?"

"Every last one. I'm thinking of getting them tattooed."

The jokes brought a smile to Sam's face, though he still held tension in his gaze, flicking to some of the darker ones. Gabe licked his lips and traced his thumb down his spine.

"It doesn't hurt me, Sam. I promise, it feels wonderful." He pressed his cheek to Sam's shoulder and rubbed little circles into the small of his back. "Good bruises."

"I just don't- I don't want to be too rough with you. If I'm leaving marks like that–"

Gabriel could feel Sam's heart racing, pounding faintly against his chest, and he pressed kisses into his neck and collar to quiet him. He caught his eyes and grasped for his hand before cutting him off. "Sam, it'd take a lot more than a few love bites to really hurt me. You don't need to worry about being gentle with me, okay?"

Sam nodded reluctantly, and Gabriel made it his duty to kiss away the bashful shame creeping onto his face. He squeezed his hand as their lips moved in quiet tandem, feeling his apprehension slowly ease. He found that he couldn't help but melt into his lips, his words, no matter how much he worried. It was a blessing and a curse.

He brought his free hand to Gabe's face, cupping his jaw, his finger barely inching at the corner of his mouth as they kissed. Tender. Perfect.

[Sam kisses each hickey vv gently and moves his hands all along Gabe's torso and hips, caressing every bit of pudge and muscle]

"You're pretty," he found himself murmuring. He winced minutely, bracing for the impact of a sarcastic quip. Rather than laugh it off, or mock him for the remark, though, Gabriel simply smiled softly and recaptured his lips. Sam felt a bit relieved with the lack of response.

"So how much time would you say we have before Dean finds a new way to kill himself?"

"A solid four, five hours. More if the waitress remembers to change the sign."

Sighing, Sam gave a quiet chuckle. "I'm not even going to ask."

A grin crossed his face. "A lot we could do in five hours."

"You have something in mind?"

"I don't know," he hummed, "Pull my hair, fuck my throat? Something to keep us busy."

Sam chuckled. "Mm. Tempting." He brought his lips to brush Gabe's.

"Did you have something better to do?"

A flush crept along his cheeks. "I was just planning on doing research. Dexter Hasselback's entire collected works aren't going to read themselves."

"Of course they aren't, they'd bore themselves to sleep."

Sam pressed his lips again, softly, to Gabriel's. The latter tried valiantly to deepen the kiss before it was broken, to little avail.

He pouted. "You're no fun."

This got him a soft laugh as Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and made his way to the corner of the room to retrieve his jeans. "Remind me of that next time you drop in and proposition me for sex."

"Put your cock in my mouth, you could shut me up for a while," he sang. He leaned over the table so he could rest his head against Sam's.

Sam worried his lip and gave him a soft smile. Gabe met his fond gaze and bobbed his eyebrows, earning a laugh to go with it. 

"We have all the time in the world, you know."

With a sigh, Sam closed the remaining gap between them, kissing him slowly before retreating. His eyes remained shut as he licked his lips, considering, before meeting Gabe's gaze.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," he murmured. "And you taste like syrup."

"Always a plus," Gabriel said with a smirk.

Gabe mouthed around the base of his cock and Sam had to press the book to the table to avoid ripping it. His thighs were pushed further apart to give more room to maneuver around his dick. The long, slow stripes Gabriel's tongue was tracing were making the words go blurry. Sam had never been good with teasing.

His near-pained grimace wasn't lost on Gabe — keeping his tongue firmly beneath the head of his cock, he guided Sam's legs to lock around his mid back, leaning closer to his body and finally wrapping his lips around the very tip. Sam brought a hand to his mouth, biting back waves of needneedneed and willing himself not to reach down and grab Gabe's hair tight, push his nose to his pelvis and revel in the wet heat of his throat. Gabriel was taking his sweet, sweet time in unraveling him.

He rocked his hips minutely up into Gabriel's mouth, stifling groans as his nails pressed crescents into the wooden tabletop. He could feel the small grin form around his cock. Gabe began to bob along the shaft, his tongue working magic on the underside of it. The head of his cock hit the roof of Gabriel's mouth, and the feeling of every bump and groove along it made Sam's head spin.

Realizing quickly and with some disdain that no research was going to get done if he couldn't string two words together himself, he slid the book to the side and glanced down to see Gabriel halfway down his cock. Eyes closed, hair mussed, his lips slick with saliva and precum, glossy and pink with friction, Sam almost regretted looking for fear that he'd come on the spot. Almost.

Sam ran shaking fingers through Gabe's hair. They curled sharply, scraping against scalp when the man beneath them took all of him down his throat in a single motion.

[Gabriel helps him research the victim and by 'helps' I of course mean he sucks his dick while Sam struggles to focus on reading everything the guy's ever written]

[the "we have some more research~ to do" line in CC has a deeper meaning now than just 'Dean is a slutty slutty man']

"Hey, Gabe?"

Climbing to straddle his lap, he flashed Sam a smile. "Yeah, Sammy?"

Returning the smile through peppered kisses, Sam draped his arms around Gabriel. "Is my laptop still on the sidewalk?"

"Probably."

-

[something something "Some kind of twisted exposure therapy, real big where I came from"]

"Sam, for what it's worth, I am sorry. I never wanted it to go this far."

It looks like he's shut down — no longer the fire and passion and laughter, the spark in his eyes as he fled into Gabriel's arms and hid his desperation, the laughter in spite of everything he's lost. The sparks flickered out months ago. In his effort to help numb the inevitable pain of loss, he broke him. 

-

[something something about the pillows and the wistful gaze into the empty hotel room at the end]

Notes:

_Tryin' to lose the awkward teenage blues  
Workin' on our night moves  
And it was summertime  
Sweet summertime summertime_

-

**Changing Channels**

Notes:

_I used her, she used me  
But neither one cared  
We were gettin' our share  
Workin' on our night moves_

[something something "you're afraid to love" "sometimes people just die" clearly referencing Jess]

-

[something something "we have some more research~ to do" and Sam thinking about Gabriel]

-

"Genital herpes? Really?"

Gabriel grinned wide, his eyes sparkling. "Hey, can you blame me for liking to hear about your dick?"

This got him a raise of Sam's brow and a bitter chuckle. With little other response, Gabe's smile faded. He sighed theatrically.

"You know, you take more foreplay for one quick fuck than your brother's ever had in his life."

Sam sat down on the tabletop, the oversaturated everything starting to burn his retinas. His tone came out harsher than he expected: "Why don't you go try and fuck him then?"

"Yeah, problem is that Dean-o doesn't like me," Gabriel cocked his head, a hint of a grin reappearing. It wasn't nearly as genuine as the one before it.

"Bold of you to assume I do."

Gabriel threw his head back, laughing cynically. He braced himself against the table's edge. "Nah, you just hate me. Big difference."

"I.." Sam was silent for a moment, furrowing his brow. "I don't hate you."

A disbelieving eyebrow arched in response. "Oh? What am I doing wrong then?" Gabriel's now half-smirk was forcibly aloof. Something else lurked behind it. "Do I have to kill your brother another few thousand times? Maybe throw in a couple civilians?"

Sam huffed a laugh, his lip curled up in not quite a sneer. His lips pursed before he said, "You never do anything without a reason. I still believe that. I have to."

A moment passed that they were both silent, one staring suddenly open-mouthed and nearing teary-eyed. Gabriel blinked hard, drew a sharp breath, before crashing his lips against Sam's. It wasn't particularly graceful — his hands fisted in the hunter's hair, swallowing the lump in his throat, slotting himself between the sturdy thighs. He felt Sam drape his arms around his waist, locking around his lower back to pull him deeper into the kiss.

Gabe's hands traveled from the nape of his neck to cup his jaw, thumbs rubbing hard across Sam's cheekbones, before he pulled away. Even still he continued to pepper his lips with soft pecks. He pressed their foreheads together, and Sam did not object.

"God I love you," he laughed, tears still shining in his eyes.

Sam's lips curled up, color flushing his cheeks. His nose dragged softly against Gabe's face as he drew forward to kiss him again. It was slow, messy, but almost careful. Like he was mapping out every inch of Gabriel's mouth in the space of mere minutes. Fucking heavenly.

His arms slid to press firmly onto Gabe's back and below his ass, before he stood to lift him. Gabriel held tight around his neck, legs scrabbling to catch above Sam's hips. He let out a small whine when Sam licked a long stripe up his throat. His back collided with the wall. 

The pressure of Sam against him, nipping and sucking at his neck, nerves sparking electric down his body — fuck. Gabe bit his lower lip, feeling Sam rub all too gently against his cock, his jeans stretched tight. Too tight.

"God, fuck-" he mumbled, releasing his grip around Sam's shoulders to free one hand. With a snap of his fingers, their clothes disappeared. He smirked, breathless. "Much better."

This received a chuckle from the other. His teeth sank deeper into his lip, eyes fluttering closed, as Sam took him in his hand. He rutted up into the touch. He let his head fall back against the wall, soft whimpers escaping with every mark sucked into his skin. His brow furrowed, his hips bucking hard, the sensation of burning arousal in his cock, snaking down his thighs.

"Sammy– god, yes," he choked out. Sam's body pressed up against his was making his brain go blurry, his vision spotty.

Gabriel let out a broken gasp when fingers teased at his hole. Sam ran the pads of his fingers slowly, so slowly along the sensitive skin. Growing desperate and impatient, he raised a hand to snap himself to readiness, laid out for Sam to fuck open.

Sam caught his wrist, pinning it roughly to the wall. "None of that," he said in a low whisper, lips brushing Gabe's ear, "I want to see how long it takes to make you beg for it."

He tensed his legs tighter around Sam's waist. He could feel where hip bones jutted into his thighs; he ached to curl his fingers around those auburn locks and tug, guiding the hunter to bite, grab, command every ounce of his attention. Instead, he blinked hard and a small bottle of lube appeared on the counter beside him. He met Sam's gaze, whiskey eyes practically gleaming behind lust-blown pupils.

The pop of the lid resounded clear through the room, and Gabe was focusing very hard on resisting the urge to squirm against Sam's body, get some kind of friction back on his cock. The first touch of lubed digits to his hole sent a shudder through him. He interlaced his fingers with those of Sam's hand, still pinning his to the wall, and squeezed once. Sam took that as affirmation, and pushed past his rim.

Gabriel's shaky moan made Sam's dick twitch, already hard. He tucked his head into the crook of the other's neck, biting gently above his collar as he began to move his finger in and out of him. The addition of a second earned him an impressive string of vulgarities. Gabe was fighting for breath with every plunge of his hand, every scissoring of his fingers.

"F- fuck, Sammy–"

"You want me to fuck you like that? All hard and rough, just desperate for me?" Sam asked, his voice low, almost a growl.

Gabriel flung his head back against the wall, biting his lip near hard enough to draw blood. "God, Sam, yes-" his breath hitched, "just- please."

A third finger was added, thrusting and twisting inside of him. Gabriel had forgotten how amazing it felt to be stretched, to have your partner take you apart piece by piece and leave you keening into every touch. He choked out a moan as Sam brushed against his prostate, a wicked grin growing on Sam's face. Gabe grasped harder at his shoulder as his hand drove into the bundle of nerves, whimpers falling freely from his lips. 

"Harder," he hissed. His eyes were scrunched shut and his teeth gritted, Sam's mouth on his neck just barely grounding him to his own pseudo reality.

Sam chuckled and curled his fingers sharply, earning a breathy whine. "You just love my hands working you like this, huh? At this rate I'll never get my dick in you."

"Please," he gasped, "Please- fuck–"

The slow removal of the fingers inside him left Gabe wanting, empty. He stifled a groan, hearing the lube rub slick onto Sam's cock. Lining up with Gabriel's hole and pressing the head to his rim, Sam drew back to press a single, tender kiss to his lips. He squeezed his hand as he pushed his hard cock past the tight rings of muscle.

Gabe's whimpering moan went unhindered as Sam slid into him, slowly, kissing just behind his ear until his hips were flush with his ass. Biting his lip as he let him adjust to the feeling, he traced his thumb along his hand. He groaned under his breath when Gabriel clenched experimentally around him.

"Fuck, Gabe- feels so good, fuck," he gasped, one hand moving to the other's hip to steady him.

He was answered with a soft whine, before Gabriel took a few breaths and his tongue laved over his lips. "Move," he demanded, quiet but sure.

Sam needed no more confirmation. He drew back before thrusting in, slamming into Gabe's hole up to the hilt, reveling in the sharp moan. He nudged his prostate on his next thrust, just enough to earn a wretched cry.

"Please, just- fuck, please, Sammy-"

Finally, he began a rhythm and the response was entrancing. Gabe's eyes rolled back in sheer ecstasy, whilst his nails dug welts into Sam's shoulders. The hunter set a punishing pace and his back burned with friction against the cheap, bright wallpaper.

"Ah- harder," he choked out, "Harder, fuck- please."

He plunged deep into his hole, soothing a bruising mark on his collar with his tongue. The way he moaned for him was fucking erotic. Gravity pulled him down onto his every move, practically screaming in pleasure every time Sam hit his prostate.

Gabriel panted, begging perfect obscenities as Sam's cock pounded into him. The hand on his waist squeezed just right. His eyes closed to focus fully on the way his ass was being drilled to the wall, the beautiful pleasures of every thrust.

"Sammy- fuck, gonna come, need to come–" he choked out before he climaxed, tensing around the cock buried inside him.

It was only moments before Sam came, the feeling of Gabe's hole clenched around him enough to send him over the edge with a shaking gasp.

"You're getting better at this, Winchester," Gabe chuckled shakily, struggling to regain his footing. He clutched to Sam's arm as he flung his head back to give him a small smile.

Sam grinned back easily, still holding his waist in an effort to help steady him. "And you're getting needier, Trickster."

Gabriel's gaze remained locked with Sam's for a moment, processing, before he tore it away with a soft laugh. His smile grew forced, eyes narrowing and brow furrowed. He rolled his shoulders and suddenly stood a little taller.

-

"You lied to me."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from the ones with 17 fake I.D.'s apiece," Gabriel snorted. His head was buzzing more than he'd like to admit.

Sam laughed dryly, eyes glued determinedly to his own hands. He curled a tight fist and dragged his teeth along his lip, nails digging into the flesh of his palm. He didn't dare look at Dean, who had stepped back toward the door. His brother seemed to understand that this was between him and Gabe.

"Sam, I–" he started, looking pained.

"What? You said it yourself!" Sam cut him off, breathless and ire blind and taking no regard whatsoever for Gabriel's attempts to explain himself. "The only reason you took an interest in us is because we were vessels! Because we were the ones who'd end your petty family squabble!"

Gabriel was quiet now, his words barely echoing in the vast empty space. "I never said it was the only reason."

"Have you ever told the truth to me? Even once?" Tears welling in his eyes, he bit his lip once again and squeezed them shut. "Unbelievable." His voice caught in his throat, choking on his words. Gabriel almost convinced himself that Sam paused, head bowed low at the door, but he charged out in suddenly deafening silence.

Shell shocked, unable to find the words, he folded to the floor within the oil ring. The flames had died but he couldn't find it in himself to move from the spot. His hands shook violently as he carded them through hair still damp and matted from the sprinklers. "Yeah," he whispered to himself, voice breaking, "I said I loved you."

-

**Sam, Interrupted**

Notes:

_Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy  
Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy_

He was mad.

Mad at everything. Everyone. It burned deep in his gut and he wanted to dig it out of his body with his bare hands. He was mad at it, too.

Dean's words boiled inside him and he closed his eyes, willing it not to show on his face. He didn't want another pointless argument. It wasn't worth the trouble, nor the pain. He was tired of burying it. He had a whole damn graveyard of repressed emotions and his crypts were overflowing. But arguing with Dean wouldn't solve that. If anything, it'd just rattle both of their bones.

Shifting in his seat, he tensed his brow and forced down the urge to cry. Firmly decided against the will of his aching tear ducts. He couldn't forget about it.

Easy solutions were bullshit.

-

**Hammer of the Gods**

"Do you understand now?" he whispered, barely making eye contact, "Why I had to lie?"

"Gabriel, I forgave you a long time ago."

The archangel licked his lips and gave a pained smile.

Gabriel moaned softly, keening into the kiss. He reached his arms behind him to hang loosely around Sam's neck as the taller man worked his mouth on his clavicle. 

They both gasped as Sam slipped a finger past his rim, deep scratches appearing just below his hairline and turning a fiery red. He heard a resounding snap and was met with quickly lessening resistance as he began to thrust it back and forth inside Gabriel. A significant portion of his hand was slick, two fingers now moving freely within him, and he tucked his head to leave a few gentle nips on the archangel's collar. Swirling his tongue teasingly in the dips between bone and muscle, he felt Gabe's hole slacken.

"Spoilsport," Sam mumbled into his neck, laughing softly, "Stretching you is half the fun."

Gabriel hummed and turned, finally, to face Sam. He locked his arms once again around his shoulders. "If you want fun, I'll show you fun."

He brought his lips to ghost against the other's before pushing him to fall hard against the bed. The mattress sank with both of their weight. Gabriel climbed atop him, matching Sam's disbelieving grin with a smirk as he began kissing him with renewed vigor. Sam groaned softly into his mouth when he felt a hand drop down to palm him through his jeans. He tangled his fingers into the honeyed brown locks of Gabe's hair and reveled in the sounds that coaxed.

Sam let his lips fall open as Gabriel moved to leave a series of hot, open mouthed kisses along his jaw. He tipped his head back to allow further access, thinking it refreshing to be on the receiving end. Tawny golden waves tickled his cheeks.

"It's been a while since we've done this in a bed," Sam laughed quietly.

Gabe hummed in agreement. He began sucking hard at a spot just below his collarbone. Sam bit back a moan as his cock was squeezed roughly, still straining under his jeans. He dragged his teeth along his lip and tried not to buck into Gabriel's hand.

"Mm-mm," Gabe said. He placed a hand over Sam's when he began to unbutton his shirt, a soft smirk fleeting across his face. "That's my job."

Sam chuckled. "Oh, is it now?"

Gabriel didn't answer, proceeding to latch once more onto Sam's neck as he undid the buttons of his flannel. Sam shifted to instead snake his hands under Gabe's waistband, squeezing his ass and earning a quiet moan. He grinned, victorious.

The moment his shirt was off, his mouth was on his chest, laving and sucking. With deft fingers, Gabe had managed to get his hand into Sam's jeans as well, only a thin layer now between him and the hunter's aching, begging cock. He pumped him a few times before shuffling off the constricting and frankly offensive garments.

Gabriel slithered down to his hips, eyeing the newly freed dick with a bite of his lips. Catching Sam's gaze, he licked a long, slow stripe up his cock and sent a shudder rippling through his body. He seemed pleased by the reaction, and raised his hand to snap his own clothes away.

[Gabriel grasping at the sheets, white knuckles]

He clawed at muscled shoulders, throwing his head back as he pivoted his hips. Short, breathy moans escaped his lips each time he slammed down onto Sam's cock.

Sam dug his fingers into Gabriel's hips, keeping his eyes locked with his blown pupils. He felt the flesh give under his hands and bit his lip gently at the sight. He began to pull Gabe down onto him, relieving some of the toll on his movements.

Sam started to gently bob his hips to meet Gabriel's, earning a wretched whine. He licked his lips at the sound. He moved one hand to wrap around Gabe's red, hard cock, and nearly came on the spot at the moan that followed. A string of whispered yesyesyes's fell from his lips as he bounced on Sam's cock, vehement, desperate. 

"God, Sammy, fuck me any harder and this building might crumble to the ground."

"Is that a challenge?"

"You bet your ass it is."

-

_-And we'd steal away every chance we could — To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods-_

The low rumble of the wheels on the road nearly drowned out the singer's voice, crackling from the radio as they drove further out of range. He realized he didn't mind too terribly.

"Put down your collar, it makes you look like a douche."

Sam let out a dry laugh, his stomach twisted and empty. He raised a hand to rub at the still raw scratches hidden below his hairline, feeling sick. They stung as he ran a finger against each one. The white noise of numb grief buzzed at the touch.

"Look, if you need to talk, talk," Dean said shortly. His eyes didn't leave the road, but his tone was resigned to reluctant sympathy. "I know you spent a few of your better nights with him, and if there's anything you need to get off your chest..."

Sam dragged his teeth along his lip, trying and failing to find words. He furrowed his brow. "I don't- What is there to say?" His voice broke on the question, a phantom tightness closing its grip around his throat. He ran a thumb roughly along the seam of his jacket. The muscles in his face began to ache.

His brother nodded silently, and he sat back to watch the mile markers tick past.

-

He kept his gaze trained on the motel mirror and pulled down his shirt collar, not quite caring that the flannel burned where it pulled taut. Pale navy bruises dotted the skin of his reflection. Unbuttoning further, he curled a tight fist as he trailed his eyes along raised pink lines, the entirely too temporary remnants of Gabriel.

The sight of them sent a streak of numbness, the distinct and tangible absence of feeling through his abdomen. It seeped through his veins and blurred his vision the longer he looked, and it wasn't until he was collapsed on the floor that he noticed the tears running down his face. His hands shook and he smeared them across his cheeks and neck to rid himself of the trails. The saline stung where it hit every scratch.

What once was quivering made way into heaving sobs. Silent screams wracked his body, his nails digging into his hairline to force down the prickling hum of something that wasn't quite rage. It pulsed from just beside his heart, heavy and oozing with bitterness and guilt and ache. He balled up his sleeve and rubbed roughly at his eyes in a last ditch effort to preserve himself, biting back wails and taking it out on his lip, but stopped cold. In sporadic motions, he managed to unfurl his twitching hands and place them on the tiled floor. His fingertips pressed themselves hard into the grout as though trying to rip apart the ground beneath him in place of himself.

 _My fault_ , was ringing in his ears, forcing out more, yet more tears. _It's my fault he's dead. He's dead because I'm such a fucking coward that-_

_Oh, god, he probably still thought I hated him. I didn't do nearly enough to convince him I really did forgive him. For everything._

Sam leaned his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink, the interior of his eyelids raw and burning. He didn't know how long he sat there, unmoving, but the intermittent tearful convulsions seemed to have stopped by the time his head began to hurt from crying. The ends of his hair had sharpened into matted points. He pinched one apart, clenched a fist, and rebuttoned his flannel. With this, he forced himself to stand. The mirror taunted him from the wall as it watched him leave.

Notes:

_Ain't it funny how the night moves  
When you just don't seem to have as much to lose  
Strange how the night moves  
With autumn closing in_

-

**Meta Fiction**

Notes:

_I awoke last night to the sound of thunder  
How far off I sat and wondered  
Started humming a song from 1962_

It was bound to happen eventually.

_I never meant to be so bad to you_

Sam knew that.

_One thing I said that I would never do_

That didn't make it any easier.

_A look from you and I would fall from grace  
And that would wipe this smile right from my face_

He heard himself telling his brother that he needed a minute. Not to worry about him. His own voice gurgled back at him through water, drowning him in the air, as if mocking him, as if in a dream.

_Do you remember when we used to dance?  
And incident arose from circumstance_

He stumbled out of the sliding glass doors, Dean's worry muffled by the ringing in the back of his head, by the too-loud, nearly-rasping voices still chasing him out of the store.

_One thing lead to another, we were young  
And we would scream together songs unsung-_

His foot hit the ground at an awkward angle, creating a resounding crunch. Gravel. It echoed, rippling, in his ears.

Step by fitful step, he collapsed into the seat. Raw emotion seized his throat, vice-like. He slammed the car door a little harder than he meant to. His vision was spotty, threatening tears, and he let it overtake him. Sam screwed his eyes shut, feeling tears run down his cheeks. His fists clenched hard.

He heaved a few short, strangled gasps of air to sate his starved lungs, hating how loud his sobs were becoming. His nails raked across his skin, scratches appearing alongside saline trails, a shock of cold before the tingling heat of blood. Those same fingers spread, shaking, to card into his hairline.

God, he could still feel Gabe's lips on his, caramel sweet and soft like rose petals. Soft like early morning light and sticky pancake breakfasts. Like everything his life wasn't. Had never been. Like everything he could never keep.

Sam brought trembling, calloused fingers to his mouth, his brow creasing and an ache in his chest at the clash between the memories and the physical. The ache swelled and more tears slid from his eyes. His knuckles shone wet.

His lip curled up in soundless wails, his teeth bared to clamp down on his hand, curled into his mouth to stop the screams from escaping. Near hyperventilating, his chest jerked in sobs. The tightness in his throat turned his panting into wheezing.

Gabriel's eyes were whiskey gold and honey brown and amber, preserving eons of countless stars, planets, lives. They were tired, long past jaded after all he'd seen in heaven and earth — blood, brutality, deepest betrayals. They held untold stories, good and bad and ugly and fucking beautiful. And yet, somehow, they were so full of life. They always had a sparkle in them for candy, for just desserts, and for Sam. 

He'd never get to see them sparkle again.

With this, he finally let himself bawl, whimpers growing to cries, every exhale an anguished sob. Teardrops rolled over his wrists and under his sleeves. His legs quivered. He fought for every breath, his wails drowning out everything. He could still hear it. It sounded like Gabe.

But, truthfully, so did everything. He saw now that the sky had gone dark, rain clouds rolling over the sun. Still trembling, he planted his feet, took a few deep breaths, and sighed heavily. He smoothed away the tears still lingering on his face, and let the chill in the air soothe his grieving heart.

He heard a sharp, yet almost cautious clink of glass against his door. Raising his head, he saw Dean holding up two bottles — water and beer. He laughed softly. His brother lowered both through the open window and Sam grabbed them, elbows braced against the seat to keep his hands from shaking.

Dean said nothing, didn't need to say anything, as he slumped into the driver's seat beside him with a low sigh. He fiddled with the keys for a moment, hesitating. Still forcing his breath to steady, Sam's small nod seemed to satisfy him enough to start the ignition. Deep concern seemed to radiate from him, and Sam wasn't entirely sure if he liked how exposed he felt in its wake.

Rather than ponder this, however, he turned his attention toward opening the plastic bottle in his left hand. The water felt like a godsend down his throat, cooling his reddened face, his aching head. It cascaded into his stomach and washed away the lump in his throat. It numbed the sting of urging cries. Sam ran his tongue over his lips, still salty with tears, and lost himself into the rhythmic pattering of rain.

-

**??**

[porn stars Sam they were porn stars]

"Well, to be delicate about it, " Gabriel's voice was on ice, teetering on the blade's edge between hoarse frustration and the airy lilt of someone holding their emotions like a lit bomb.

Sam huffed. "And to be indelicate?"

Gabriel frowned. "To be indelicate, they "

-

He pinned the archangel to the bunker wall. Inches from his face, he glanced up to meet the honeyed brown eyes in front of him. There was something broken beneath the once carefully upkept mask of humor and hedonism. The muscles in Gabriel's face steeled in an attempt to close the newfound cracks, and he forged a sparkle in his eyes. They now appeared level, even wryly amused, and he rolled his shoulders to bring his arms to rest around Sam's collar. Faintly scarred lips quirked up slightly.

"Well, Sammy, what are you waiting for?" He murmured this, raising his eyebrows to complete the look of comically exaggerated suggestivity.

Sam laughed softly. His stomach felt empty but churned with something fierce. He pressed his lips firmly, forcefully to Gabriel's before melting into the kiss, a hand sliding to the small of his back. The shorter man tensed his arms, pulling himself closer to the hunter, seeming to respond with great enthusiasm.

"Haven't put me in this position since 2009, Sam," he murmured against his lips, chuckling.

"Well, let's make up for lost time then."

Gabriel hummed in agreement, tilting his head back out of a long forgotten habit, to expose his throat to those skilled lips. That hum quickly turned into a groan, his hands wringing auburn locks as Sam grazed his teeth against the sensitive skin–

No matter how many tears he shed over his lifetime, he'd never quite gotten used to the feeling of them rolling down his neck — and certainly not someone else's tears. Sam pulled back carefully from an archangel frozen against the wall. His eyes glinted blue, no longer the worn whiskey gold that had always stared up at him and dared him to fall. 

"Gabriel?"

There came no answer. He needed an answer. Needed to know he was going to be okay.

"Fuck, fuck, okay, can you move? Let's sit down on the steps, okay? Just right over there."

"I just thought– you always liked when I kissed your neck, and you seemed into it– fuck, I shouldn't–" he took a shaking breath, not daring to look at the archangel curled into a trembling ball beside him– "I shouldn't make... excuses. I didn't realize that would scare you, and I should have thought of that, and I'm sorry, Gabe."

"Gabe?"

There was a valiant attempt from the party in question to steady his breathing. Sam took that as adequate response.

"I– I don't know if you're okay with touch, right now, but you're– you're free to grab my hands instead, I mean you're squeezing pretty tight on your legs," he gulped and pursed his lips tightly, "I don't– just, your bruises are still healing, you know?"

His heart was beating hard in his chest, his throat, his hands themselves were unsteady. 

-

His voice wavered, closed eyes twitching, seeming to conflict between the instinct to recoil and the stubborn will to stay in place. "You remember when I told you it'd take more than love bites to hurt me?"

Silently, Sam nodded.

Gabe licked his lips. "Times have changed, huh?"

Notes:

_I remember  
Lord, I remember  
Lord, I remember_

-

**???**

[Gabriel feeling insanely guilty for not being able to fuck Sam like they used to, feels like he's not enough for him anymore, fucks Rowena because of this]

[Gabe sits in a chair, contemplating what happened and why, when Sam walks in]

"Then what?" Gabe almost laughed, breathless. Tears were beginning to pool in his eyes. "Are you jealous, Sammy? Is that it?"

"It's not that, it's– Gabriel, I'm worried about you."

He looked pained, furrowing his brow. "Well, don't be. I'm fine. I just had sex with a 300 year old redhead — I'm over the fucking moon."

"After what happened between us?"

"After _what_ happened between us?" He demanded, "After I had a breakdown? After you saw me at my worst? My most vulnerable? What?"

"Gabe, please," Sam said, his voice softer, more timid than he intended, "I just wanted to understand."

Wincing, he continued nonetheless. Deflection arose again, hardening his stance and forging steel in his shaking voice. "So I cracked up under pressure the first time back. It's a me problem, Sam, I swear it has nothing to do with you."

"When it happened, when I triggered that– Gabriel, did you feel broken?" It struggled from his lips, but by Gabe's expression it seemed to hit home.

He sighed. His teeth dragged over his lip as he considered his words. "Kind of hard not to, considering he broke me, Sam."

Sam pursed his lips and took a breath, clenching his shirtsleeve tight between his fingers. "Well, you're in good company if you view the display of emotions as personal failure. I'm surprised you and Dean don't get along." He glanced up to Gabe, but he seemed checked out, closed off, still deeply focused on composing himself. His eyes flicked downward. Softer, he said, "Hey. Please."

After a moment, Gabriel huffed. "Worry about yourself, Sammy."

"Gabe, I really think–"

"What do you want to hear?! What do you want me to say?" Gabe exclaimed, just barely too loud for the echoing bunker, "That I fucked Rowena out of some.. perverse need to prove myself? To force myself through it? Second time's a charm? I'm not that self destructive, Sam."

"I'd beg to differ," Sam muttered, watching Gabriel shake his head in pained frustration. "Last I checked, you were jumping into the line of fire."

"Yeah, you're one to talk about self sacrifice. When's the last time dear old dad brought you back after another half assed attempt at nobility?" Gabriel deadpanned, his eyes glazed. He stared blankly at the table, and the welling tears finally spilt over, rolling down his face. Stifling a sob, he winced as his chest jerked in the unwelcome display.

Sam flinched at the sight, a sharp twinge playing at his heartstrings, but pressed on. "Oh, are we dredging up old wounds, now? Death and resurrections? Do you want to bring up the elephant in the room or should I?" Fear flickered across Gabe's face, and he hastily added, "We're talking Dean, here."

This clarification brought a visible release of the strain in his shoulders, and he cocked his head. "That was an.. ill thought out attempt to help you numb the pain that Dean's eventual death would bring. One for which I've not only apologized, but have spent countless hours trying to atone. Is that not enough for you?" Then, quieter: "Am I not enough?"

Sam's heart sank at the formal, removed tone. This wasn't the Gabe that he knew. This wasn't the Gabe he'd fallen for. He finally met his gaze, rimmed with red and hurt. The light shining behind his whiskey eyes had dulled, long, long ago. He wasn't there for him. He couldn't catch the sparks before they flew away, and it crushed him.

Urging, acrid heat stung his eyes now, fists clenching beneath rough flannel. Not rage. Never rage, not really. Not for him. "You've always been enough for me and that's not changing now. I swear to you, Gabe, all I want is you. In whatever form that comes." His chest deflated on a shuddering sigh, and his voice broke as he said, "I just need you to believe that — you're always enough. Enough and so much more."

Gabriel's face shone with tears. His voice was shaking, Sam hanging on every word. "Sam, I–" he narrowed his eyes in a grimace, took a slow breath, and started again. 

"Asmodeus, he took... everything from me. He broke me down, physically, mentally. I mean, he did..." he blinked hard, shook his head, "unspeakable things to me. Did unspeakable things to others, using my grace — my power, my essence, my– my entire being. I could do nothing, nothing to stop him. Couldn't fight back, couldn't pull away, I couldn't even scream. My entire life was being dragged in and out of that damn cage, used for my base resources and nothing else.

"I wasn't even his dealer, I was the drug and his high was the limit of my worth.. Expendable. Desperate to please. My whole world was my use to him. If I made him feel good, if I satisfied him– I don't know, it didn't hurt as much. By the end, I was just so tired. My mind was mush, putty in his fucking hands. You know, he left the door unlocked, sometimes, just to lord it over me. He knew I wouldn't leave. I couldn't have lifted it if I tried, and I sat there and indulged his power trip. Every damn time."

He laughed bitterly, staring into his palms. They, too, were wet with tears. He curled them to loose fists on the wood tabletop. "I still see him. Everywhere. Everywhere I look, I'm expecting him to be there. To look at me with that fucking synthetic pity and ask me, 'Oh, poor thing, did you really think that was real? That you could escape me that easy?' The thought that this– all this is just in my head, that I'm about to be dragged out again, drained again, used again — god, it makes the floor crumble beneath me."

He looked up at Sam, wearing a bittersweet smile. "I'd say I'm rather fond of this particular delusion. You've grown up, kiddo."

Sam was stunned silent. He furrowed his brow, licking his lips. "Gabe, I– I can't–"

"Don't," he cut him off, and Sam snapped his mouth shut, a thousand wordless thoughts mulling behind sunflower eyes. "Please don't. You don't need to say anything. Just– come here."

He obliged and felt comfortable hands snake around his waist as he carefully positioned himself, as directed, on Gabriel's lap. He kissed him for a moment, tasting tears, salty and slick on his lips. Gabe's eyes were closed when he pulled away, tugging him closer now to press his face to Sam's chest and soothe his beating heart. Sam himself dropped his head to his shoulder and felt the lump in his throat swell.

"I wish you didn't hurt anymore," he mumbled into his shirt, kissing messily at his collar as his eyes welled with tears. Gabriel didn't answer, but hugged him tighter, yet tighter. "You deserve the fucking world, you hear me? You deserve to be happy, to be loved and cared for and– Gabe, you deserve to heal."

Gabriel chuckled weakly, wiping at his eyes. His voice was hoarse, choked, cracking. "You going to kiss my nightmares away, Sammy?"

He returned the laugh, empty. "Has that ever really worked?" He said. Gabriel swallowed the hurt lingering in his throat. Sam lifted his head slightly to press his lips to Gabe's cheek. "But I'll be here. Whatever happens, I'm here."

He pressed their foreheads together; eyes wrenched shut, feverish, skin damp with tears. Together.

-

"But I still want you– I want to have sex with you, want it to feel amazing–" Gabriel closed his eyes, shook his head– "I just don't want to feel so vulnerable."

Sam was silent for a moment. "

-

"I- Sam–" he said, hands visibly trembling. His eyes grew wide and tightly strung as he watched his fingers quiver, seemingly in almost a daze.

"Gabe, you don't have to do this. If you don't feel good about it, or if you don't feel safe, we can stop right now."

He shook his head fervently. "No, no– I want this. I swear I want this, Sammy."

"I won't be upset, Gabe. If you want to stop, now or ever, just tell me and we will."

Gabriel closed his eyes, his shaking head beginning to slow. He met Sam's gaze through his lashes, considering his words. "I don't–" his lips pursed, rephrasing– "Sam, I love you, and I'm grateful that you're giving my boundaries a wide berth, but I really do want to do this. I promise. I'm just a little.. jumpy, I think."

Sam caught his other hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing once before bringing it to his mouth to press slow, deliberate kisses to the heel of his palm. Giving a weak chuckle and a pained smile, Gabriel heaved a deep breath and pushed his still shaking fingers past Sam's rim.

He pet softly down his thighs, feeling Sam squirm and tense beneath him. Worry flitted across his face as he watched him carefully, comfortably replacing paranoia. Seeing the concern in Gabe's eyes, Sam bit his lip and nodded quickly. More.

He pushed his thighs to meet his chest, taking a moment to kiss him softly. 

Settled by the bone-deep warmth radiating off Sam's body and emboldened by his enthusiasm, he let hands wander downwards. The firm muscle underneath shivered at the touch and Gabe couldn’t help but grin a bit.

His breath hitched in his throat, hands nearly ripping the sheets when Gabe brushed against his prostate. If this is how it felt to be on the receiving end of things, he was beginning to understand how a being as ancient as Gabriel could content himself to it. Holy hell. 

"Good?"

"S- so good, fuck," Sam choked out, biting back a groan as Gabe thrust into him. "Right there– fuck, Gabe, please."

The sight of Sam in that moment, moaning and writhing beneath him, lost in his pleasure, was starkly breathtaking. Pure bliss.

"Hah- harder," Sam begged, knuckles white against his thighs, "Gabe, please."

Sam sighed with a wide smile and the barest hint of a laugh. "I could get used to that." Gabriel rubbed his hands over Sam's chest, returning his grin as he leaned down to kiss him.

"You did so well, angel," Gabe murmured. His tone was derisive, but within it laced a hint of sincerity.

"Hey, who's the angel here?" Sam chuckled, leaning up to nuzzle into his face.

Gabriel drew back slightly. Sam's attentive eyes met his and he just shook his head softly, barely.

Sam sat up fully now to carefully wrap his arms around him. A hand landed in the middle of his chest as Gabe laid his head beside it, saying nothing. It was understood. "Okay, I'm sorry," he whispered into his hair, kissing the top of his head, "I'm sorry. What do you need?"

He shook his head again, pressing closer to Sam's body. Worrying his lower lip, he hugged him gently. "Just breathe. You're okay. You're going to be okay."

Notes:

_We were working  
Working and practicing_

-

**Exodus**

When Sam awoke, it was to a cold and empty bed. Stuffing the rising worry back down his esophagus to deal with at a later time, he quietly swung his legs to the floor.

"Gabe... come back to bed. Please."

His hands shook violently, the water sloshing now. Whiskey eyes flitted to his, wide and terrified. He choked out a sob before folding to the kitchen floor, Sam rushing to kneel at his side.

Through the tears he pleaded, "Don't!" and quieter, "Don't make me." His fingers curled into his hair, palms over his ears, trembling. Sam bit his lip, heart breaking to see him like this.

"I won't make you, Gabe, I promise. No one's going to make you."

He pulled his legs into himself, whispered nonono's falling between panicked sobs. His eyes were scrunched shut, tear tracks running down bright red cheeks.

[something something about Sam's time in the cage (nightmares??) and Gabe's time w/ Assmodicksuck]

"I'm sorry," came a small voice. While startled, Sam did his best not to jump.

"For what?" He murmured back, rubbing his thumb along Gabriel's shoulder.

"I'm sorry we never got to be together under normal circumstances."

Sam held back a chuckle. "Gabe, you know as well as I do that 'normal circumstances' don't really exist for us."

"Yeah."

They stayed for a moment in silence, listening to the rise and fall of breath. Sam licked his lips and reached to grab Gabe's hand, squeezing in accordance with a furrowed brow, both hidden in the darkness.

"I'm sorry too."

-

This was nothing of the passion they'd shared before, but a soft kiss. A light kiss. Comfortable.

"I think you know better than anyone that I wasn't always like this," he chuckled, "I guess I've just– I've never felt helpless like that before. Even when my brothers would fight, when they'd shake heaven and earth to its knees, I still had my sense of self, you know? I could feel some sense of control, if only over my own actions."

Sam brushed his thumb along his lower lip, glancing up to meet his gaze. "You're so strong, you know that?"

-

"Cheating on me?" Sam joked, eyeing the shorter man. "With Cas, of all people? I think that's Dean's domain."

Gabriel went along with it. "We've never exactly been exclusive in the past, have we? Unless you were secretly saving yourself for me in between all the times I faked my own death for years on end."

The playful wink he gave at the last sentence did nothing to disguise the hardened tone. The hunter huffed an equally false laugh, but grimaced. He didn't stop walking.

"Well, I think maybe we could try it," he said slowly. His eyes faced determinedly forward.

The archangel was silent for a moment. "That's if either of us make it out of here alive."

"Yeah," Sam said quietly, before quirking a lip in anything but a smile. "On that off chance, are you interested?"

Something warm sparked in Gabriel's eyes, a muted bourbon reminiscent of times long past; times when all they were were two runaways; when they escaped into each other's arms and forgot the world was in their hands. He blinked back welling tears. His fingers tentatively interlocked with Sam's, squeezing once.

"I think I'd like that."

Notes:

_Workin' on our night moves  
In the summertime  
In the sweet summertime_

-

**Epilogue (Carry On)**

_And when your looks are gone and you're alone  
How many nights you sit beside the phone  
What were the things you wanted for yourself  
Teenage ambitions you remember well_

Sam took a deep breath, and uncovered the Impala.

_It was the heat of the moment_  
_Telling me what your heart meant_  
_The heat of the moment shone in your eyes_


	2. Love, Death, and Other Bad Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last updated: 5.1.19
> 
> this one is mostly notes, take that as you will
> 
> in which Alexander Hamilton is a needy bottom, JeffMads is cute and pining, and Burr finally gets into the room where it happens
> 
> or: Burr finds his way into the room where it happens, and it's exactly what you think it is
> 
> -
> 
> Rating: Explicit
> 
> Fandom: Hamilton
> 
> Category: M/M
> 
> Tags: Everyone/Everyone (see updated tags for specifics — there's a character limit on summaries), Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, Grief/Mourning, Crying, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Cuddling and Snuggling, Crack Treated Seriously, Mild Dubcon, can we call it dubcon if Laf is just extremely forward, like borderline forcefully so, before Alex knows what's happening enough to be into it, I'll tag it anyway, Voyeurism, Hamilton has a pain kink, Open Relationships, Pining, Mutual Pining, Infidelity, Canon Era

Alexander Hamilton was, as we all know, a whore.

[Laurens is upset that he'll never get the courage up to make a move with Hamilton and makes the grievous error of mentioning this to Lafayette]

[They wait for the bar to be clear with the exception of the bartender, who's generally chill with enabling their gay activities]

[Laf drags Alex into a corner, pins him against the wall, and sticks two fingers in his mouth]

"Such a talented tongue, mon amour."

Alex gasped softly and Lafayette slotted his knee between his legs. He moaned as he bucked earnestly against his thigh. Laf pushed his fingers further down his throat to quiet him, glancing toward the bar, his other hand moving to still his hips. He exchanged a knowing nod with the bartender and made his way to drag Alex into the back room. His long strides left Hamilton jogging to keep up, but damned if he was going to drag his feet here.

[Laurens and Mulligan are both exceedingly jealous and they decide to join in]

[But not before Laurens confesses over the last dregs of alcohol that he'd kind of accidentally put Laf up to this (read: Laf had joked about 'well if you're not going to fuck him, can I take a shot?' and Laurens had laughed and said, 'yeah, alright, if you manage to get him in bed with you he's yours for the taking')]

[Cue them each leaning against the doorframe and watching Alex suck Laf off, surprising them and making one/both jerk in surprise]

[Alex is blushing and trying to explain himself to a rather bemused audience, although Laurens seems more sulky than usual because he'd been kind of fond of the idea of them being an exclusive thing]

[Lafayette is just pissed that they interrupted his pleasure]

[Mulligan: "so,, can we join in?"  
Laf: shrugs "the more the merrier"]

[Laurens murmurs against Laf's lips that this didn't count as getting Alex into bed, given that there was no bed to be found, and Laf whispers 'merde' in response]

[They giggle and sit back a little to watch Alex assaulting Mulligan's mouth, Laurens turning into Laf's neck to give him a few hickeys to distract from his jealousy]

[He realizes, through this, that Laf is just as jealous as he is, feeling his heart racing and his face warm, and he laughs softly]

He placed a hand over his heart. "Quite a pair, aren't we?"

Laf gave a sheepish half smile, looking askance, and Laurens giggled and pressed his lips again to his, thumbing across his cheek.

"Go ahead, you go get your man and hand over mine."

He chuckled quietly and made to get up, gently shoving Laurens off his lap. As he strode toward them, his eyes flicked over Herc running his hands through Alexander's hair. Alex let out soft moans and made to beg but was interrupted by Lafayette towering over him. He crouched to meet him at eye level, determinedly ignoring Mulligan's waiting cock.

"Mind if I take a turn?"

Alex whined, but Laf kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, "I think John has been waiting long enough, no?"

This earned a laugh and Hamilton rose from his kneeling position, mumbling something of an, "I suppose," and gesturing to Lafayette that the space was free for the taking. Laf watched him go before propping himself against his hands and falling from the balls of his feet to his shins. He bit his lip slightly and caught Mulligan's gaze. The grin he gave him was unusually shy, looking up from between his legs. Herc smiled.

"Was this your plan all along?"

"Mm. Perhaps."

He cupped Laf's jaw lightly and ran his thumb across his cheek, mirroring John earlier. Laf giggled softly. He leaned into the touch, batting his eyes and placing his own hand over Herc's.

-

[Washington sees Alexander sucking Laurens's cock and silently watches for a while, invites him back to his tent after Laurens shoots his load]

[Alex is terrified that he's going to be punished or discharged but Washington wants to join in on the fun]

[This is also where we discover that Alex has hella pain kink]

He held his jaw, gentle yet firm, and turned his face to meet his eyes. "Good boy."

His hand came down across Alex's face and his moan turned into a sob.

-

[After Laurens dies Alex kind of goes off the rails in general, but particularly here]

[So, to cope, he sets himself to fuck literally everyone who's willing within his quickly growing circle]

[Which, as it turns out, is a fair few]

[Everyone kind of just knows Alex has whored himself out to everyone on the cabinet, most notably James Madison when they were writing the Federalist Papers]

"Alexander, we should get back to work."

"Yeah, but this is more fun."

[He was also his first foray into the endeavor, with the technical exception of Washington himself since they'd already been a thing]

[That's why John Jay stopped after five essays, he walked in on them fucking and quit the project]

[Alex's hatred for John Adams comes from his momentary closeness with Madison, during which James revealed his insecurities re: Thomas's relationship to Adams]

[Hamilton promptly swore to make Adams his mortal enemy, and so they bonded over that]

[Now it's not just Jefferson being needy and Madison being stoic, instead it's Madison trying to deal with Jefferson's other relations while he's very much in love with him, on top of not allowing himself to fall victim to heedless relations since they're both in not only the public eye but the historical one as well]

-

Thomas leaned over his shoulder, his lips brushing James's ear. "You're sure we're alone?"

He nodded, swallowing hard, and pushed the door closed before turning to face Jefferson. A grin split across Thomas's face and he took a long stride to scoop James into a passionate kiss against the frame. Madison threw his arms around his neck, pulling him deeper.

"God, I missed this."

"I missed us."

"It's been too long."

"I've been counting down the days."

All of these were whispered between their moving lips, among gasps and small groans.

"What do you want to do to me, Jemmy?" He stretched to grasp for James's hand beside him, squeezing lightly once he found his prize.

"So many choices."

"Well–" he stole a few kisses and dragged his teeth lightly across his lower lip before continuing– "Pick one and ravage me with it."

"My god, you're insatiable."

Thomas licked his lips. "Not as much as Hamilton, I trust?"

Madison's eyes darkened, and his hand froze beneath Thomas's. He backpedaled quickly.

"I hit a nerve, I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be an issue."

"Just– I'd like to discuss the relations I had with Hamilton on my own terms, and certainly not while in bed with you."

The tightness in his voice strained Thomas's chest, but he nodded fervently.

"Of course, Jemmy, I'm sorry."

-

"Thomas, you have to leave."

He groaned, and held him tighter.

Closing his eyes, his brow furrowing slightly, he continued: "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

Thomas pouted. "At least kiss me before you kick me out."

-

"This isn't a casual thing! We aren't –" he took shallow, shaking breaths. In a lower tone, he said, "Jemmy, look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong about this. About us. Tell me I'm an unattached fuck for you — that this means nothing."

"Thomas, I..."

"No, tell me. Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me that."

"Thomas, you know I can't. But you also know I can't do this with you."

He crossed his arms. "Well I can't do this without you."

"You're being irrational."

"You know what? Maybe I am. But at least I'm being honest with myself."

"Oh, that's low."

"I'm not being cold," Thomas made as though to start a list.

"Stop."

"No, you know what? Fuck this."

Fear struck James's heart. "What?"

"If I can't have all of you, I don't want half."

"Thomas, please–!"

"It- it isn't healthy, what we're doing here." His voice broke, and he took a shaking breath. "Not for me, and I highly doubt it is for you either."

"But it's all I have."

Tears welled in Jefferson's eyes. "Jemmy..."

"Thomas, I know that what I'm giving isn't nearly enough for you, but I– I can't–"

His words dissolved into frantic gasps for air, his own tears beginning to spill over his cheeks. Strong arms pulled him into an embrace, and he choked out a sob, muffled in Jefferson's shirt. "Please. I don't want to fight. I don't want to lose you, not when I've just gotten you back."

"I know, I know darling."

"I can't lose you."

"Shh, don't cry, please don't cry," he whispered into the top of James's head, before laughing softly, "You're the strong one between us, if you're crying I don't know what I'll do."

"I'm sorry, I just–"

"No, no, Jemmy I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all that. It's not fair to you and I do apologize."

Madison shook his head and buried it deeper into Thomas's chest. "You don't have to. You were right."

"No, I wasn't. I was being foolish and selfish and inconsiderate. And even if I were speaking the truth, it wasn't right, what I was saying to you."

When he didn't get a response, he started rubbing wide circles into James's back. "Do you want to go to bed?"

"I want to stay here with you."

"Alright, I'll stay as long as you'll have me, darling."

-

"Tell him he can stay home!"

"Jemmy.." Thomas muttered. He shot him a glance, reaching for his hand under the table

"He can do the same amount from there!" Alex looked to Madison, thrilled with the outburst, waiting for further action. His face fell, though, when James returned with a shy, almost sad smile. His eyes flicked down to see Jefferson lacing his fingers with Madison's.

Alexander was not jealous. He'd spent sleepless nights talking James through his pain. He should be fucking ecstatic that he was finally getting the love he deserved. If that meant Madison drifted away again, he could deal with that. It was hardly as though reservedness was a new feeling between them. There weren't supposed to be feelings in the first place, anyhow. This was better.

Alexander was a little jealous.

-

[Alex started seeing Thomas because of Washington, who decided there was too much tension between the two and invited both back to his study to let Alex take them both at once]

He softened his gaze. "Thomas, you're stiff as a board — well, sit down, let me explain."

[Thomas is hesitant at first, (My God,,) but eventually gives in and starts enjoying himself (my god..) and then starts enjoying himself more earnestly, especially after discovering he holds out longer than Washington]

[Alex calls Washington 'sir' even in the bedroom, especially in the bedroom, and has slipped out a 'daddy' a few times]

[Thomas is rather more fond of 'master' (get it because slaves) (Washington suggested it and it just kind of stuck)]

[He also discovers a whole slew of kinks Alex has for various forms of sexual pain, from hair pulling (Washington showed him that one, it's still his favorite) to love bites to exceedingly rough sex to edging]

[Alex really enjoys being bent over the desk and held down while either/both of them fuck him, generally likes being treated like a toy for them to use whenever the job gets stressful or heated]

-

There were a great many things a president must come to expect upon entry to his office. Even more are conditioned into the mind of a soldier, and that of a general. It comes with the territory. However, finding his Secretary of State lounging half naked, lengthways across his chair, was a new one. He raised an eyebrow at Jefferson.

Thomas kept firm eye contact. "Fuck me."

Washington closed the door, silently processing, until he asked him, "Have you stretched yourself?"

A grin played across his features, uncharacteristically demure. "All this past hour. I've been waiting."

"Good boy."

A shudder rippled through Thomas's body at the response.

-

[When Thomas finds Alex doing something he shouldn't he walks over, tangles his fingers in his hair and tugs lightly, and Alex just fucking melts]

[His conditioned response is to try and find a way to pleasure Thomas from his position, mouthing at his cock from outside his pants, and he has to be pushed away (with a bit of reluctance on Thomas's part) so they can talk normally]

[After they have a rational discussion Alex is just like,, "can I still suck your dick"  
"... fine"]

, listened to Alexander hum around his every thrust. His knees weakened with the warm, tight vibrations through his cock.

-

[Something happens where Alex and Burr are fighting over something, maybe after the whole Room Where It Happened thing, and Alex just,, kneels down and says something along the lines of, "you can go as deep as you want, I think Thomas has done away with my gag reflex"]

[Burr is frozen to the fucking spot but sees that Alex is genuinely offering so he eventually caves]

"You're... serious."

"Deadly."

[Hot take: Hamilton calls Burr “sir” all the time bc he’s the neediest bottom this side of the Mississippi]

-

Burr licked his lips. He was silent for a moment, eyes flicking over Alexander's body as he searched for his clothes. "Stay."

Hamilton paused and slowly rose to his feet. "Are you sure?"

"Please."

Aaron shuffled to one side of the bed. He lifted the corner of the duvet in invitation. Gaze lowered, Alex let himself under the covers. His shoulders squared, visibly tense. Burr cocked his head and found his hand, guiding it to rest at his waist with eyes softly watching for any sign of true reluctance. He found nothing of the sort.

Still, he asked. "You can leave if that's what you want to do. I'd prefer your company."

"No, that's not–" he shook his head, voice quiet– "That's not it. I just wasn't expecting it, 's all." A small smile played across his lips. "Never pegged you for a cuddler."

"You never pegged me, period."

That earned him a laugh.

[Alex isn't used to people wanting him to stay and cuddle and talk, most people send him away after fucking him out of fear or annoyance or disgust, Alex has internalized the idea that he's not supposed to want to stay]

-

[Afterwards they're in bed together and Burr's like, "so is this what happened between you and JeffMads?" and Alex is like, "part of it,, I swear there were some actual negotiations going on there"]

[And Burr just laughs and says like, "if I'd known that was all it took to get a foot in the door I'd have whored myself out years ago..."]

[Alex proceeds to say, "yeah, well I heard you were doing it anyway," and Burr's like ???? and Alex says, "I got Washington drunk one night and he said you two were a thing during the war. To be fair, Laf and I did the same"]

[Burr chuckles "at the same time?"]

[Alex laughs heartily "yeah, sometimes"]

[Burr grins "our president, the slut"]

-

"Does Theo know you're here?"

"No, she doesn't."

Alex chuckled. "Always the infidel."

-

"You said Thomas had done away with your gag reflex — does he really treat you that roughly?"

"Don't get the wrong idea, it's what I ask– well, beg him to do."

"I had no idea he was as aggressive in the bedroom as he is in debate."

"You should try it sometime."

Burr laughed. "Maybe I will."

-

"So... did you ever sleep with John?"

"John? I– you'll have to be more specific."

"Laurens."

"Ah. No, I don't think I ever did."

"Really? I figured, at the wedding..." he trailed off, laughed softly, "He looked about an inch away from jumping you then and there."

"He was drunk off his ass, that's just how he gets– well, got, as it were."

Alexander's eyes darkened, losing a bit of their glimmer as the slip snapped him back to the present. "Yeah."

Burr winced at the hardened tone as Hamilton's shoulders stiffened. He watched his eyes flutter closed, casting down with a hitch of his breath. He reached out to grasp his hand. After a few moments of labored breathing, Alexander squeezed back — it was a tighter hold than he'd expected, but he kept his grip firm and hoped it was enough.

The moments stretched longer, and eventually Burr could hear quiet weeping from Alex. He carefully interlaced their fingers and looped that same arm around Hamilton's shoulders. As soon as he did this, Alex turned his face into his chest, crying more heavily. His free hand came to pet softly over his hair.

"It's okay, you're okay," he murmured. "You don't need to keep it inside any longer. Let yourself feel this."

Alexander, as ever, did not take his advice. It did seem to work, though. Sobs wracked his body, curling in on himself as he tried vainly to restrain them. That restraint became wretched wheezing, every wave catching and grating in his throat, shoulders shaking violently on each. Aaron held him tighter.

It was only after Hamilton had thoroughly spent himself on the urge to cry that Burr spoke again. "You know, even if something had happened between us, it wouldn't have meant anything," he murmured into the top of his head. "It would've been– _I_ would've just been a distraction for him."

"What do you mean?" Alex's voice was muffled in his shirt, and shaky even still.

"I'm saying if he'd ever have done that, it would've been to get out of his own head about you marrying off." He let his head fall back against the pillow, watching the candlelight flicker across the ceiling. "He really loved you, Alexander."

"That... doesn't make me feel better."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said, finally rising off his chest. His eyes were puffy, rimmed with red. He wiped glossy tear tracks from his face. "I loved him too. God, I loved him."

His voice cracked and gave out on his words, and he looked away. Burr ran a thumb along his hand. "You never really let yourself mourn for him, did you?"

Alex shook his head slowly, not meeting his gaze.

"You threw yourself into law school and drowned out everything else."

It wasn't a question. Still, Alex nodded.

He furrowed his brow. "I suppose I can't blame you. I wasn't much better."

Hamilton propped himself up on an elbow, cocking his head with a gentle curiosity. "Another John?"

"I'd.. really rather not talk about that now."

"Why not?"

Burr smiled wistfully and leaned in to press a kiss to Alex's lips. "You have your demons, I have mine."

"Alright," Hamilton murmured. "Have I upset you?"

"You should get some rest."

"That's not an answer."

"I know."

-

[Burr's Side of the Bed happens here]

-

[Thomas and Burr meet up after all this and talk about Alex]

["I swear, that man has the libido of a rabbit"  
"He really is nonstop"]

["It's all interconnected, Burr, you've gotta fuck your way to the top"]

"Jemmy was fucking him before I was, while I was off in France with Lafayette."

Burr chose not to inquire further on that. "I meant to ask; you and James, is something happening there?"

Thomas looked askance. "We have sex regularly, and we are... rather closer than most friends, I will admit. But it's not really a set thing, I mean we see others, we have wives, we bring people into our bed together sometimes," he laughed, "usually Alexander, he's always up for it."

[Thomas starts tearing up at the thought of Madison and him not being a set thing, wipes at his eyes with concerned confusion– "I don't–" he stares at his hands for a moment before wiping them gruffly against his pants– "It doesn't matter"]

"I mean, back when Washington was president we'd bend Alexander over the desk and take turns. I've lost count of how many times that happened, it really became a regular thing."

"He's fucking insatiable, I swear to god."

-

[Later that night, Thomas is grappling with his feelings for Madison]

Thomas Madison... it sounded good to his ears. Sounded right.

[sounds good sounds organic thank you]

God, he was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush, trying on his name. He rolled over and groaned into his pillow. He knew he should just talk to James about this. They were already fucking, half courting for Christ's sake. But... he couldn't. Couldn't bring himself to even consider it without the swirling pool of anxiety and guilt and shame in his gut boiling over. He couldn't risk what they had. What they had was a miracle in and of itself. It wasn't Jemmy's problem that Thomas wanted more.

-

"I like this. I like what we have here."

"Yeah?"

"I... I don't want to leave."

"Thomas, you know that if you don't–"

"Yeah, yeah, people might talk. Fuck people."

"– if you don't, I might want more."

"What?"

James took a breath. "If you don't leave," he said slowly, "I might want you to stay here every night for the rest of my life, and then where would we be?"

"Oh.. Jemmy...."

"No- just– forget I said anything, I–"

Thomas cut him off with a kiss.

"James, I think I love you."

"... Well, we're quite a pair, then, aren't we?"

"Jemmy, I want this. I want us. Want you."

James closed his eyes. "You have no idea how much that means."

"To you?"

"In part." A weight dropped in the pit of his stomach, and it must have hit James on its way down because he began caressing his face, pressing kisses into his neck. "In large part. Thomas, I love you too. With everything I have. But in this day and age, it's complicated. You know that."

"I know."

"It's a miracle we even get to have this–"

"Jemmy, stop."

"Thomas, I..."

"Please."

He nodded faintly. "... Okay."

Thomas nestled his head back into the crook of James's neck. "We'll have a spring wedding."

He felt James laugh softly. "Does that mean we'll have to stop letting Alexander back here?"

"I think he's already made a spare key."


	3. Take a Deep Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last updated: 7.8.19
> 
> scenes from Heathers (1988) as told from just about any perspective but Veronica's
> 
> primarily JD just for ease of recreating some of them, but there'll be others scattered throughout
> 
> -
> 
> Rating: Mature
> 
> Fandom: Heathers (1988)
> 
> Category: Multi (all background)
> 
> Tags: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Jason "J.D." Dean, Veronica Sawyer, Bud Dean, Kurt Kelly, Heather McNamara, Heather Chandler, Martha Dunnstock, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Grief/Mourning, Angst, that's it just angst, coda fic, Suicide, Date Rape, Implied Past Abuse, Smoking, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attacks, Breathing Exercises

"I die knowing no one knew the real me."

Bullshit.

He tore a third page out of the book and it crumpled under shaking hands. New town, new school. Same goddamn note. He bit hard into his lip, fishing in his coat pocket for a lighter. It took a few tries to spark, but the paper went up quickly enough. He hardly noticed the budding burns on his fingers as he reached for a cigarette.

Deep breath. Calm the nerves. Numb it out. If his goddamn heart would stop pounding in his ears he might've secured a coherent thought. Static rattled in his skull, fading into a low hum as the nicotine reached his brain.

Deep breath. Three, four, five, out. He ran both hands over his aching head and closed his eyes. He'd done this before. He'd do it again. Just another goddamn town, right?

Deep breath.

-

JD: "We leave in two hours. Go write your goodbye letters and burn your pornography stash."

Bud: "You say that like I have friends, dad."

JD: "Yeah, too good for those, aren'tcha?" "Not like we're around long enough anyway."

-

"Punch it in."

Hard. If he didn't feel like his hand's about to shatter, what was the point of a fist bump? Harder. He wanted to feel the force rush down his arm, enough to satiate this burning empty feeling. 

-

His neck crawled and he scratched at it, to no avail. Eye contact. Very important. The air weighed heavier, damn near suffocating him, his flannel pressing too close. Everything pressing too close. Fuck, what had he gotten himself into? All he could do was play it through. If luck was on his side, she'd lose interest quickly enough. Find someone worthwhile. Someone interesting. Someone interested.

When had luck ever been on his side?

-

[Heather McNamara POV re: mother's picking up her and the other Heathers and she's Big Introspection about her parents' divorce ]

-

[Heather Chandler POV in bathroom mirror scene after David coerced her]

Bitter nausea.

-

[figure out some reason for JD to be climbing in her window]

-

The chill bit his skin, but Veronica's was warm against his own. Her body was plush and tender and perfect for someone who wasn't him. All he could feel was wrong. Wrong to the point of nauseation, where every touch stung poison through his veins. It coursed through him from every point of electric contact.

Fuck. Whatever. He got his rocks off — what more was there to it? Veronica seemed happy, anyway. She pulled him closer, her soft, plump lips meeting his. JD turned his head to let her do as she pleased. He made a few attempts at returning her affections, moving his mouth with hers, even as his skin crawled under her hands. Even as his heart was pounding in his ribs. In his skull. Wrong.

Those delicate hands gripped down harder on his waist and he thought one of them must surely shatter.

-

[McNamara perspective of cow tipping and Veronica leaving with JD]

She was supposed to keep me safe. Veronica was always the strong one. She left me.

-

[Kurt POV of woods killing]

-

"I play the saxophone."

"I like girls," she blurted out. She didn't know why. Something urged her to spill her guts to this kid.

"Congratulations. I don't."

There was a raw energy about him — electric, jittery. His smile too wide, his voice too smooth. Nauseating.

"What about Veronica?" It was a valid question.

"Veronica Sawyer is a long story."

"I have time."

Did she want him to laugh at that? It was an easy laugh; a breathy chuckle that seemed to echo from a faraway mind. Rehearsed. Calculated. This boy laughed like clockwork.

"You really wanna know?"

Tick.

"Fleming's got her fifteen minutes of fame. I've got nothing better to do."

"Fair enough."

Tick.

-

"Do you like your father?"

Deep breath. Ease into the– "Never given the matter much thought."

He hated the way his voice broke. Deep breath. The edge of the frame began to dig into his hands. All he had. All he had left of– "I liked my mother."

Sit down before she sees your legs shaking. 

All he had left. All he had left of her. She left him. She left him behind. The priest's words echoed against the walls of his skull and it took everything in him not to bolt. He'd ran like the fucking wind that day. He'd been out the doors the moment his father made the mistake of easing his vice-like grip.

His head was swimming. His lungs ached — fuck, he wasn't breathing. Inhale. Two. Three. "Boom."

-

Not her. Not Veronica. Fuck, not again.

-

"I knew that loose was too noose." His heart pounding, dipping somewhere between panic and frantic glee, he chuckled. He felt the familiar prickle crawling across his neck and rubbed at it vainly. "I mean, uh, noose too loose. God damn you, woman."

JD could feel her shallow breaths on his face, and that scared him more than the gun in her hands. Too close. Clammy. Crowded. His gut churned and the static under his skin spread further, near overwhelming now. It drowned out most everything but his beating heart. Talk about personal space, right?

She didn't know how to use that thing.

-

"I die knowing no one knew the real me."

Bullshit.

There were parts of him scattered across every state. Dallas saw a battered, grieving child, a face stained with tears and mud. Baton Rouge saw the tears dry, dripping eyes grow hard and cold. Vegas saw that mud turn to gunpowder. It saw the bruises fade. Worthless pity crumbled away and fear took hold in its place. He'd preferred that. No one got close enough to share the emptiness it stirred in his bones. It was better that way.

Sherwood, Ohio saw him take, and take, and take from it and it sought interest. He hoped Martha didn't have to see what was left.

In. Two. Three. Four. Out.

Deep breath.

"I die knowing no one knew the real me," he murmured to himself, and something between a laugh and a sob rose in his chest, just beneath the lump in his throat.

He'd like to think his mom knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the actress who played the OG Martha Dunnstock is hella butch now and I'm kind of living for it


	4. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last updated: 12.?.19
> 
> I lost a bunch of this when my phone broke and the only backup I could find was what I have here. learn from my mistakes — don't assume the notes app will save your progress even if it's supposed to
> 
> anyway this is what really happened en route to Ba Sing Se. change my mind.
> 
> -
> 
> Rating: Explicit
> 
> Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
> 
> Category: M/M
> 
> Tags: Major Character Death, Underage, Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Jet (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Explicit Sexual Content, Angst, or perhaps, Aangst, Fluff, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Implied Past Abuse, Grief/Mourning, Panic Attacks, Triggers, Breathing Exercises, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, Lovers to Enemies, Identity Issues, Pet Names, First Time, on Zuko's end at least, Frottage, Suicidal Ideation, Minor Slurs, Survivor Guilt, Oral Fixation, Unsafe Sex, sex as self harm, Implied/Referenced Oral Sex, Implied/Referenced BDSM, Coming Out, Fire Lord Ozai's A+ Parenting, Homophobia, Zuko Has PTSD, Jet Has PTSD, everyone does it's a worldwide war zone

**CHAPTER ONE**

Notes: we must thank my long suffering betas, Marindee and space_lesbians. praised be their names

this was supposed to be a nice fic where Zuko got some good dick like he deserves. my one brain cell had other plans. enjoy xx

-

"You know, as soon as I saw your scar, I knew exactly who you were."

That was all it took for Zuko's heart to drop out of his chest, something raw and bleeding and pounding in his veins. He tensed hard. His grip tightened on the rail in front of him like it'd keep him from plunging into the waters below. Nowhere to run. No escape.

Jet wasn't attacking him, though. Didn't sound hostile. He'd had plenty of time, even the element of surprise, but he was talking. Trying to placate him, maybe. Knew he'd come off worse if he took action. But he was close, and warm, and as unthreatening as someone like himself could be. Still threatening, but there was something else there.

He continued, "You're an outcast, like me. And us outcasts have to stick together. We have to watch each other's backs, because no one else will."

Oh.

The waves splashed softly against the wooden walls of the ferry. It was something so familiar and yet just off center. It creaked in a way he was unused to. To many, he was sure the soft, weather-beaten wood was a comfort, a relic of home where things were maleable and gave to the weight pressed against them. He missed the feel of unforgiving metal, though. Anything less felt fragile. Frail. Breakable.

The rail was slick in the morning mist, Zuko noticed now his pulse was slowing to normal. Soothing. Even on a boat that was not his own, that was a steady comfort. No matter where he went, sea mornings would chill his veins and let him breathe a little deeper.

"I've realized lately that being on your own isn't always the best path."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to hit on me."

Jet said it so easily.

-

Zuko's shoulders slammed hard into the wall as Jet crashed against his lips. His hands were tight around his wrists, holding them at either side of his head, and he moaned softly into the rough kiss. All of Jet was pressing into him. It suffocated him, left him heady.

The push of Jet's body against his own was overwhelming. He was drowning in it. His chest was lean and unfairly strong, driving him back further into the wood, and his head tilted up to meet with the same fervor. He thought it unlikely anyone had Jet's same fervor for anything, but damn if he wasn't going to try.

His brow furrowed as he surged into the kiss, and Jet hummed his delight, low and dark and purring. It was messy in the best way. He broke Jet's hold on his wrists to card through his hair, to tug and give leverage. Something about that sparked something in Jet, who almost growled, definitely keened, and whose tongue pressed insistent at his lips until he parted them.

Just as quickly, what once was sharp and desperate became slow and deep. Jet's tongue slid gently alongside his own. His hands were everywhere now, agile and needy. Entangling him. Entrapping him. Zuko felt his heart rate quicken.

The sounds Jet was making in his throat, though, the heavy, crooning thrum that went directly into Zuko's mouth and straight down to his dick. _Spirits_ , it felt good. It felt good that Jet wanted him, that the evidence was right there, that he was so shameless about it.

And the evidence really was right there, with Jet grinding hard against him as he licked into his mouth. He seemed so damn pleased about every move and moment. Zuko hadn't realized anything could be as erotic as this, before, but Jet was– fuck. He could hardly call it anything. Could hardly think.

Before he really had to, though, they were broken apart by a passing wave as it rocked the boat. Jet stumbled back. He found himself on the bed, Zuko shifting his weight with the motion beneath them. A look of warm wonderment replaced momentary panic. His eyes roamed over Zuko's body, braced against the rolling of the waves and now flushed with an equal mix of arousal and fluster.

Despite this, he cocked his head to one side and suppressed the smallest of smiles. Jet, for all his seemingly unending grace and elegance, had no experience on the water. And thus the world was balanced.

Zuko strode across the short gap between them, Jet's gaze never leaving him. He climbed into his lap and straddled his thighs before resuming their kiss, firm and wanting. They lowered until Jet met the mattress. And spirits, this felt right, their bodies pressed together, closer, closer. When Jet finally pulled away, his mouth loitered near Zuko's. His breath was hot against his lips as he spoke.

"You're used to this."

"You're not," he said, nodding curtly down at him.

Jet grinned at that, tipping his head back. "I prefer the high ground to the high seas, what can I say?"

It was rhythmic and gleeful and planned. Scripted. Zuko chose not to answer. Instead, he brushed his lips softly against his jaw and down his neck, just exploring, and smiled to himself when he felt a shiver run through Jet's body.

"A little out of my depths here."

That sounded more honest, he thought. Jet's hands were fisted in the sheets, and he traced down his arms to grasp them in his own. After a moment, his grip relaxed. Or loosened, at least. Zuko moved them to settle on his own waist, just at the small of his back.

The touch was light. It shifted his clothes in a strange way, nothing like the purposeful, knowing, teasing touches of before. He felt somehow more vulnerable like this. For a moment, Jet looked unsure, like a lost boy barely his age who'd never, in all recent memory, been allowed to be his age. He looked as he was. As they both were. As they were was a dangerous thing to be, he knew that well. He resisted the nagging urge to recoil, and instead pressed into Jet's hands.

"New starts, right?"

Jet breathed a laugh below him. His grip tightened on Zuko's waist. "New starts."

He shimmied up further on the mattress, propped up on his elbows to steal a few more kisses as Zuko made to follow him. He lingered there once Jet was comfortably pinned under his hips. Their mouths moved lazily, open and wet, which he was finding less unpleasant than he'd ever have guessed. It was slow, indecent, and intimate.

Zuko found himself being pushed up, sitting now. The kiss was firmer. It left him a little dizzy afterwards. Jet ran a hand softly, so softly down his cheek, and he murmured something that sounded a hell of a lot like, "Beautiful."

He might've heard him wrong. He might've imagined it. He was certainly not imagining the bulge in Jet's pants, nor the groan wrenched from his throat when he ground down against it. A challenge — he rolled his shoulders back, a glint in his eye.

"Say it again," he commanded, low and simmering. The power was his here. He could leave at any time, leave Jet frustrated and wanting and achingly hard, if the sounds he was making were anything to go by. He could do that. Really.

If he were to instead go by the strain of his own pants, though, Zuko found that'd leave him in a similar position. He wanted this. Wanted Jet. His cock twitched and a shiver ran up his spine. Jet, with his wide grin, all teeth and desire and with clever hands snaking their way around his body, leaned in to brush against Zuko's ear. He repeated himself. "You're beautiful, sweetheart."

He felt himself flush hot at the words, at the feeling of Jet's chest pressed close to his own, and fought to keep his temperature down. He tensed with the effort. Fuck, he knew it was dangerous. Knew he was a hair's breadth from tipping over on a good day, a calm day, a day without Jet tracing every inch of him, giving out sweet nothings like fucking candy in that wicked voice of his. Dangerous. Really dangerous.

Jet's hand had been roaming while Zuko was focused on not burning them both alive upon hearing a compliment. It had trailed its way up his spine, moved on to explore his neck. The skin still tingled where it'd skimmed across. He let his eyes flutter closed and tipped his head to give more access. Jet thumbed across his jaw as though to praise him. It took serious willpower not to press into his hand and purr–

Fuck. 

No. 

_Nonono_.

This feeling was swiftly ripped out of him, replaced by the sensation of his stomach and heart swapping places and, more than anything else ever, Jet's fingers on his scar. He'd never moved so fast in his life as he did to grab him, to do _something_ , to stop the _badwrongterrible_ feeling. Don't. Please don't. Blood was pounding in his ears and he felt it everywhere.

They stayed frozen like that for a few long moments, Zuko pinning Jet's hand in place with a vice like grip on his wrist, eyes wrenched shut. Slowly, he moved it away from him.

"Okay," Jet said, voice soft and almost shaking. Almost. "I won't. I promise."

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and nodded with a brief bite to his lip. Jet didn't mean to hurt him. Why should he? It's not like he knew who he was.

Jet laced his fingers carefully into his, giving a gentle squeeze. "Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't know." He rubbed small circles into the back of his palm as Zuko tried to steady his breathing.

He blinked open his eyes, collecting his bearings piece by shattered piece. Bed. Table. Unbelievably hot guy three inches from his face whose eyes were deep and hardened and a little scared. He shouldn't be scared. Fuck, Jet shouldn't be scared over him, not like this. Bedsheets. Boat. Jet. Holding his hand. Safe. No imminent threat to his life, no harm meant. He was safe, here.

Well, as safe as he could be, lying about his identity to get his rocks off atop an Earth warrior. Zuko squeezed back tentatively, and a small smile replaced some of the worry on Jet's face. Not all of it. Some. He grabbed his other hand and returned it to his neck, meeting his gaze.

Taking the permission and the hint, Jet caressed from jaw to collarbone and back again until Zuko's eyes closed, softly this time. Hesitantly, he asked, "Can I kiss you?"

He nodded. "Please."

Jet captured his lips lightly, his hand falling still on Zuko's neck to pull him in. He followed him. It was stilted, uneven. His chest still felt cold and uneasy, but Jet's mouth was warm and soft and perfect against his own.

His presence was a solid one, lithe and agile and somehow still so fully there that Zuko couldn't help but lean into it. There was a dark gentility to the kiss. It laced every move with a tinge of fear; in the way Jet hesitated before even shifting his weight; in the way his fingers trembled against his neck just slightly.

Even that, though, didn't keep him from pressing in harder. Too little. Not enough. Jet's lips were fucking intoxicating and he wanted more, more of him. His tongue teased at those same lips and they fell open for him so easily.

He felt Jet groan into his mouth when he carded his fingers up through his hair and held him there, drawing closer. His hands clenched down and pulled him in further still. It was heavy and needy and a little rough, and when Zuko broke for air they were both panting.

Only then did it hit him, and it hit like a crashing wave, like a fucking tsunami. He felt unbalanced. Jet wasn't touching his scar anymore but he still felt the phantom pressure. It was wrong. It felt wrong. Fuck. He thought he was past this. Thought he'd weathered the storm.

"Nn–" he managed, heart beating fast and loud.

He was pushing Jet away hard and shaking his head harder. Hyperventilating. His father was going to find out and kill him and hurt him and he'd be angry he'd be sosososo angry at him. Couldn't disappoint him. There'd be no coming back from this. His stomach churned at the thought.

There had always been a way to come back from it. Always been a focus, no matter how hard it was. He might've been too weak to follow through but there was a way. There was no coming back from this. He was sitting in a guy's lap in his bed with his perfect lips and his perfect hands and perfect body all so so wrong, he wasn't allowed, he couldn't. Fuck, he couldn't.

He had curled in on himself, his own hands raising to cover the nape of his neck. His fingers dug in like he was trying to peel off his skin. Maybe he was. Maybe that'd force the itching burning prickly feeling out of him. His breath was coming up short and he couldn't get enough oxygen to his brain to eliminate that as an option.

Zuko, banished prince, fallen so far from glory that he'd landed in bed with an Earth Kingdom queer. Wouldn't that be a story for the masses. He'd slit his own throat before he lived to see that. If his father didn't get to him first, that is. He was so fucked. He was so fucked he might as well get on with the show.

"Take deep breaths for me, Li, okay?" _Can'tcan'tcan'tcan't–_ "Li? Come on, sweetheart, stay with me."

And Jet's hands were on his, gentle nudges to get him to let up the bruising grip on his neck. Jet didn't know who he was. No one here knew he was even from the fire nation. He could hide it. He'd always hidden it. One more secret to keep from his father. That was nothing.

Spirits, what a secret it was. Zuko opened his eyes to land his gaze on Jet. Pretty. Really pretty. Not allowed. His lips were dark and wet and bitten from kissing, almost swollen. With a pang, he realized it was also from worry. Over him. 

His hands were warm. His hands were warm and Zuko thanked the spirits his own weren't. There was a dull, heavy pain in his chest. Dying. Dying. Fuck. No, it'd happened before, he knew it had. It was nerves, nothing more. Needed to stop thinking about it. Needed to stop thinking, period.

"Li?"

Jet's voice was soft and sweet and scared like he hadn't heard it before. He snapped his eyes to his, tears threatening to spill over. Not his name. Couldn't get back to his father. His father would never know. Safe.

"I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart."

Zuko nodded. He could do that. Deep breaths. In. Two. Three. Jet was rubbing circles into his hands again. He blinked and the welling tears slid down his face. It wasn't quite an active cry. He wasn't quite sure what it was. His heart was slowing to a better pace, breathing becoming more manageable.

"Good," Jet said, "Keep going, sweetheart, you're doing good."

He didn't deserve to be called that. Didn't deserve praise. It made him feel too good. Too much. His throat was still tight, but Jet was being so patient with him. He kept going. Hold. Two. Three. Out.

His breath shook and his brow furrowed, eyes wrought shut again. He swallowed. The lump in his throat eased, to maybe half its size. Still there, definitely still there, but softer now. He made the conscious decision to let his shoulders fall. His hands slipped from his neck and into his lap, and Jet gently laced their fingers.

Zuko licked his lips, his mouth dry, and tilted his chin up. There was still some dignity left to preserve here. He gave Jet's hands a careful squeeze before raising one of his own to scrub the tears from his scar. Felt sticky. Wrong. He pushed harder, rougher into it. He looked away from Jet as he did, feeling his throat tighten again. In. Two. Three. His back straightened. Filled his lungs forcibly. Hold. Two. Three.

Jet didn't seem convinced. He pursed his lips. Their eyes met, and he raised a hand to bring Zuko's back to his lap. Vulnerable. His gaze was piercing, and all the softness he may have tried to put into it still took him apart. He let his eyes close, tensing just once, as a quiet, dry sob threatened to unravel his composure.

His brow knit together, and his attention fell to his and Jet's hands. For once, his own were cold. Jet's enveloped them, callused and careful and broad, probably strong enough to break him. That seemed to be the last thing on his mind. He didn't get nearly enough time to consider this, though, because Jet was bringing one to hover near his face. Breathing deep, he nodded. Forced down the resentment at giving that permission.

He drew his fingers across Zuko's clear cheek, the heel of his palm not quite erasing the tear tracks there. It was warm, and soft, and he grudgingly leaned into it. He shouldn't. It was bad enough that he'd let him see that. Now he was making Jet comfort him.

It felt good. No matter the shame, or the guilt, Jet was treating him gently. He was leaning in close — his lips brushed against his cheekbone, the hollow of his jaw, anywhere there were still tear stains on the skin. Zuko couldn't quite tell which of them was trembling. He assumed it was himself.

His head felt heavy and soaked and hazy, and he let it fall to Jet's shoulder. He pressed his face into the join of his neck and collar. There was no honor in making eye contact with the world right now. Jet silently slipped his arms around his body, and as he laid slowly back against the pillows Zuko followed, obediently, boneless.

It took him a long time to speak. When he did, though, he hated how small he sounded.

"You're good at that."

Jet didn't make him elaborate. "I try to be. It's necessary, sometimes."

He hadn't taken his hands off him, still light touches grazing over his skin. Zuko felt like his consciousness was trailing after Jet's fingers. To his shoulders, shoulder blades, along his spine, holding him close all the while. Solid. Present. His voice was quiet, and rasped a bit, and Zuko thought the way it felt from his throat against his cheek was the most captivating thing in the world.

"Do you still want to do this?"

"Yes," he said decisively. "Just– give me a moment."

"Take as long as you need, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

Zuko turned his head minutely, pushing further into the touch of Jet's skin. "We're on open water. Hard for you to go anywhere."

The laugh he got was low and indulgent, and deeply, deeply gratifying. "Fair enough." He let his hands settle, wrapped comfortably around Zuko's waist. "I wouldn't want to, though, even if I could."

He would if he knew who he'd invited into his bed. The thought burned and twisted in his gut. He'd do everything in his power to escape Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, someone the Fire Lord himself didn't want. But maybe–

Maybe this wasn't something Zuko could have, but Li could. Li was nobody, less than that even, but he was someone Jet wanted. He was someone Jet could trust. Someone with no ties to anything that hurt.

And if Li could have this, Zuko could damn well enjoy it.

-

"Yes," he gasped, without really meaning to, "right there."

The licking and sucking and — spirits — the _pressure_ on his exposed neck was all well and good, but the moment Jet bit down Zuko melted into his arms, with a soft moan he did not at all intend to make burying its way into Jet's shoulder where his face now rested.

He writhed against him, matching another groan from Jet. Fuck, the friction on his dick, the sounds thrumming in Jet's throat had him grinding down, harder this time.

In his right mind, Zuko probably would've found it appalling that he was rutting against Jet like this. The desperate, keening sounds he was making would probably make him blush in the morning, if he even let himself think about it. Right now, though, he didn't think he could stop if he tried. He didn't particularly want to try.

Jet had his mouth latched firmly to Zuko's neck, his tongue laving over the bitten skin. It shifted from soft and slow to quick and sharp and back again, and spirits he couldn't even begin to imagine what that'd feel like on his dick. More accurately, he had to shut down the idea of Jet sucking anyone off before it got him so hot he couldn't control it.

He leaned into the touch of Jet's lips just behind his jaw. His hips were rocking up just as hard and grinding against him almost as frantically. Zuko wasn't quite sure if Jet needed the friction as much as he did, or if he just saw how desperate he himself was. He decided he didn't care. The pleasure got him out of his head more than anything else did, and he chased it with reckless abandon.

His pants were growing tighter by the second, and fuck if that didn't make it that much more intense. The sensation of his cock rutting against the bulge of Jet's was making his brain go fuzzy. That was to say nothing of the quiet, hard breaths coming just below his ear. He was doing that. He was making Jet feel that way. The thought bordered on obsessive, erotic beyond compare.

Those same breaths came hot against his clavicle now, interspersed with gentle kisses, and leaving his skin dewy under Jet's mouth. Zuko opened his eyes and let his gaze soften on the room. Everything about Jet felt perfect, the cloth friction between them drawing groans cut short in his throat. The whole thing was delightfully overpowering. He might've been too distracted to hear what Jet said next, if it hadn't been for grieving the loss of his lips on his collarbone.

"Want me to make you feel good, sweetheart?"

He already felt good, fuck. Jet's words got him lightheaded and panting and nodding, yes, he wanted it. Wanted more. Wanted him. His hips bucked faster for a moment before a hand was there, stilling him. He bit back a whimper. He didn't trust his voice to answer, if he was being honest.

"Come on, then," Jet said, "Get your clothes off. That's it, go on. Strip for me."

He added that last bit as almost an afterthought, but Zuko pursed his lips and tried not to quiver at the thought, the sight of Jet's eyes on him as he disrobed. Not only his eyes, though. A hand was rucking up his shirt, helping him along with veiled impatience. Zuko found he liked the idea that Jet wanted this just as much as he did. Needed it, maybe.

The shirt came off easily, the pants following after some minor hesitation toward taking momentary leave of Jet's lap. He radiated lust like Zuko radiated heat. Usually. When he didn't have a false identity to maintain. With a quiet breath, he ensured his temperature was under control. The cool air of the cabin nipped at his skin.

He felt exposed. Jet was looking at his body like nothing he'd ever seen, just pure unabashed craving. His eyes were dark and roving over his chest. In the time it'd taken Zuko to straddle his hips again, he'd rid himself of his own clothes and had one hand tracing lazily over his stomach, deftly avoiding his cock. The other, meanwhile, was on Zuko.

"Fucking gorgeous," he murmured, those fingertips skirting across sculpted muscles. Zuko felt burning hot pride wash over him. Checked to keep that figurative. Hell if he was going to fuck this up now, with Jet looking at him like that.

His breath caught in his throat when the pad of Jet's thumb stroked long and slow across the head of his dick. It was just rough enough that the friction of that alone got him sighing out a moan. The intensity was almost painful. Wildly sensitive.

If Zuko hadn't been overwhelmed before, he could safely say that was what tipped him over. Jet wrapped a callused, spit-slick hand around him, stroking gently at first in an attempt to take the edge off. He wasn't sure if it was working, per se, but fuck it felt good.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

There was a slight tremor to Jet's voice, masked by a smirk that he could hear and absolutely drenched in lust. That tremor really shouldn't have been his focus. It was certainly nothing to rival his own voice, distorted by his quivering lip and strained raw with need when he replied.

"Yes–" he swallowed the panicky, exhilarated lump in his throat– "Spirits, yes, please."

His cock twitched and the grin widened on Jet's face. His eyes were still dark, his pupils blown wide, but it was different. He looked like he'd genuinely been unsure of the answer to that question. He looked relieved, and eager.

Zuko mourned the loss of contact when Jet twisted and leaned away. He dug through his discarded pants until he pulled out a small vial of oil. Zuko's heart skipped a beat when he saw it. Oh. It was real. This was real. This was really happening.

He wasn't scared, just startled. His limited experience, with his own fingers, had always been tainted by shame and the greater fear of losing it. Whatever it was he was feeling, though, must've shown on his face because Jet paused and pulled him in for a light kiss. Soft. Comforting. His thumb traced gently along Zuko's jaw and he leaned into the touch.

Drawing back, Jet met his gaze. He gave a quick nod. Do it. His eyes fell on Jet's fingers as he coated them, long and slender and capable. Absentmindedly, he licked his lips, dragged his teeth over them. He flushed red when Jet caught the action and grinned.

His arms were around him, then, moving him closer, spreading him apart. It wasn't graceful, not like Jet usually was, but he found he didn't mind all that much. Better things to focus on. Jet's gaze darted across Zuko's body. He moved his hand behind him and met his eyes once more.

Jet pressed his lips again to Zuko's to catch the small cry he made when he pushed one slick finger into him. Deceptively strong arms held him firm as he all but crumpled. He waited for Zuko to get his own hands under him before returning to his cock and lying back.

He licked his lips. "So hard for me, aren't you sweetheart?"

Zuko couldn't quite decide which touch to lean into. His breaths were coming short again. He was trying his best not to resist the intrusion, his arms shaking with the effort and nearly collapsing into Jet.

"I– I need," he started, " _ah–_ "

"I've got you, you're okay," Jet said, steadying him by his waist. "Just try and relax."

He nodded, and focused on breathing. In. Two. Three. Hold. Out. Jet pumped slowly in and out of him. The discomfort began to fade. His cock protested the sudden absence of Jet's touch.

The hand at his side rubbed small circles into his ribs to soothe him. A second finger, slick with more oil, rested at his hole and pushed in when he nodded fervently. The stretch burned for a second before he sat back with some determination. Jet grinned at that.

"There we go," he murmured, "Doesn't hurt too much, does it?"

Zuko pursed his lips. "No."

He squeezed his eyes shut, tucked his chin as he shifted his hips. Jet hummed softly and his grip tightened on Zuko's waist. It grounded him. Got him out of his head.

"Open your eyes, sweetheart. I want to see you."

Blinking his eyes open, he met Jet's gaze. He couldn't quite describe what it was behind it, half admiration and half clear-eyed wanting. Something else, though. Anticipation. Two fingers deep inside him, Jet pressed firmly to the wall of muscles and dragged hard across his prostate.

Zuko thought he may have blacked out when the pleasure hit him like a ton of bricks. The edges of his vision were clouding. Precome leaked out the head of his dick, and the sensation alone of it dripping down the shaft got him seeing stars.

This was nothing compared to the wanton moan that left his mouth. It was breathy and needy and so, so loud. He didn't care, though, couldn't care, not when Jet had another finger at his entrance. Waiting. More. Needed more, fuck.

He moved back against his hand and reveled in the stretch this time. It still hurt, still stung, but he loved it. It felt right. Rolling his hips, he snapped his eyes back to Jet's, darkened with want and gleaming. Jet looked absolutely entranced. He prodded into him again, gentler this time.

His back arched as it sparked through his body. Zuko bit hard into his lip. Seeing this, Jet propped himself up and slid his hand from his waist to his neck to pull him down for a kiss. It was sloppy, broken by Zuko every time he pushed back against Jet's hand. He filled the separation with soft whimpering.

Kissing changed the angle — he couldn't move as well pressed up against Jet's bare chest as he could before. As hard as he tried to roll his hips down on his fingers, he couldn't quite hit that spot. He'd have to rely on the infinite mercy of the spirits that Jet would do the work himself.

Or–

"Fuck me," Zuko said abruptly, "I'm ready, please just–" he cried out when Jet crooked his fingers just right– "A-ah, just fuck me already."

Jet was pushing in and out of him at a leisurely pace. "Mm, sure you can take it like this?"

"Yes," he said, too quickly. Wrong answer.

The fingers inside him curled and Zuko cursed, rocking back against Jet's hand. "Well, I don't want to break you."

"I'm– ngh– begging you. I'm begging you, do you know how humiliating that is?" He hissed, Jet's gaze victorious and wryly amused. He dug his own fingers in and raked hard down his chest, drawing a shocked moan from Jet and halting his hand dead. Zuko tried not to whimper at the stillness.

"Alright, sweetheart," Jet hummed, almost a laugh. "Need it that bad, huh?"

Any retort he might've had was drawn backwards down his throat, like it was tied by a string to Jet's retreating fingers, replaced only by a shuddering sigh. He moved slick knuckles to graze down Zuko's neglected cock and his voice broke on a desperate sob. Jet grinned something fierce.

"Thought so. Spirits, look at you."

Zuko would really prefer the spirits didn't look at him in that moment.

He watched Jet's breath hitch, ever so slightly as he slicked himself. It dawned on him that Jet hadn't touched himself since he started stretching Zuko. He must be aching. The head of his cock was pressed against his hole now, and he was nodding, please, more. Wanted to feel it, wanted to make Jet feel good.

Sitting up gave him a better angle, but left him cold. He fought to have the presence of mind not to simply heat his skin. Jet was guiding his cock into him and he pressed back against it, feeling the head enter him and groaning softly. It settled past his rim.

Jet's eyes were locked dead on his face, likely to give him a focus as all of Zuko clenched around him. His cock was long and slim like the rest of him, but the stretch around it still felt tight and overpowering. Good, though. So good, and so much.

The first thrust into him was slow and relentless. Couldn't quite be called such, Zuko thought. He sat back against it as far as he could, before it nestled up by his prostate and his thighs shook with the sensation. Jet held them firm to stabilize him. He pushed further still until their hips met.

"Aah–" Zuko said, eloquently. _Fuck_ , he felt full. Fuller than he'd ever felt in his life and so, so right.

Jet pulled out again, left him empty and wanting and feeling every inch slide out of him, before slamming back in. It was an awkward angle, with Zuko on top of him still too shocked to move. Eventually, though, they got into a rhythm, and it felt good, so good, so fucking perfect.

It was still slow, at first. Zuko didn't quite know how to move with him, with anyone really. But Jet got a hand on his hip and guided him, let him spread his legs wider, and the next thrust went so much deeper, further inside, pushing a moan out of his mouth.

"That's right, just like that," Jet was murmuring. Strong fingers pressed into his skin, kind of helping him move, kind of tossing him around like a ragdoll. He found he didn't mind it as much as he should.

"Fuck," Zuko groaned. His hands had slipped from Jet's chest to grapple and fist in the sheets. So much.

"Feel good, sweetheart? Want me to go faster?"

" _Fuck_ ," Zuko said again, louder this time. He nodded fervently. "Just– please."

The grin Jet gave then was rabid. They struck a new rhythm, one where he was rolling his hips down on Jet's and almost focusing on his face, his chest, anything. And he thought it should be awkward, but it really wasn't. Jet just made it so easy. 

Heat was pooling steadily in his stomach, his thighs, everywhere, and he needed more but it was already so much, _so_ much. He struggled for clarity. That heat could turn flame so quickly. But the clearer his mind got the more he needed to chase that feeling, that aching warmth.

"Keep– fuck, go harder."

It ended on a whine, something raw and pleading that Zuko really couldn't help. Jet seemed pleased, anyway. His hands went from stabilizing him to ramming him down onto his dick. He reveled in the firm grasp on his hips, bringing him crashing down just right until–

"Oh.." Zuko let out a decidedly undignified sound. Loud. Breathy. Pitiful. From the gleam in Jet's eyes, dignity was not high on his list of priorities in this instance. What was high on that list was driving his cock deeper, harder into him, sending him into a daze of want and need. Bastard.

The sounds Jet was dragging from his mouth were filthy, high pitched cries forced out of him with every thrust. They echoed off the walls of the cabin and permeated the room alongside labored breathing and the slide of skin against skin. It occurred to him that this was not the way to avoid drawing attention to himself here. Definitely not. This thought, all thought really, was promptly ejected from his mind when Jet hit his prostate perfectly and his vision went white.

Deliriously, between hard breaths and harder thrusts, he wondered if nonbenders understood their unique luxury of losing themselves to their senses. If Zuko had his way, the whole fucking room could be on fire and he wouldn't care, couldn't care, nothing in his fucked out mind but pleasure and pleading and spirits Jet felt so damn good inside him. He felt his rigid control slipping and fought to regain composure. Reluctantly. He knew his body heat must have spiked from the stutter of Jet's hips rocking into him, and he could only hope he was too far gone to know what that meant.

"Fuck, you feel good. So tight around my cock."

Zuko wanted to feel sick at those words, he really did. However, all the blood which should've gone towards rational thought was being redirected towards his aching, leaking cock, leaving him to whimper and roll his hips down harder. Jet had his fingers digging into his waist now — he could feel the death grip with every ragged breath he took, every shaking moan that left his mouth.

"Please," he found himself babbling, "please don't stop, please don't stop, fuck–"

He was only catching snippets through the haze of moremoremore in his mind, but he heard Jet's voice go low and appreciative, saying, "Take it so well, sweetheart, so good for me," and fuck if that didn't get him close. So close to losing it, slamming his hips down, his head thrown back and whining. He wasn't even quite sure what it was he was whining _for_ , just that he needed it so badly it overrode fucking _everything_.

"So good," Jet repeated, "Go ahead, come for me sweetheart, I know you want to."

And spirits did Zuko want to. It was a few seconds or a few hours of him bouncing desperately on the edge, high, breathy, pathetic whimpers going unrestrained before he finally came, spurting across Jet's chest and his own. His body went limp. Jet thrust carefully into him until he followed with a hitched gasp. Gingerly, like he thought Zuko might break after all that. Fuck, he just might.

He felt hot. Not in the fiery sort of way, just sticky and breathless and absolutely drunk on the feeling of Jet under him and in him. He must look absolutely debauched. His whole body was charged with it — every nerve remembered Jet's hands, his lips, his cock still inside him. The friction burn of everything began to make itself known.

Through the haze of afterglow, he thought he should be very proud. He'd kept his bending in check through a night utterly drenched in pleasure and bliss. A darker part of him said he should count himself lucky.

The slide of Jet's cock out of him felt obscene and sounded it too. He sighed out a groan. The newfound emptiness was more degrading than everything else put together. More than rutting, more than begging, this was shameful. Abysmal. His hole twitched at the open, hollow feeling.

He thought he might be shaking again. Either that or he was melting. It wasn't quite clear, nothing was, but that was fine. Everything was fine. Just a little longer. Then he would leave, because he had to, of course he had to leave, but he had this moment. Just a little longer.

-

"Stay a while. I'd appreciate the company." He froze. His eyes locked on Jet's body as he arched in a stretch. "Besides, my room is warmer than yours."

Zuko chose not to ask how he knew. "I don't have any trouble staying warm."

"Well I do, and you're warm. Stay."

He blinked, slowly, and made his way back to the bed at about the same pace. The cot sagged under his weight, lumpy and cheap and demeaning in a way he hadn't cared to notice before. It wasn't as though his was much better though. He knew that. Jet probably knew that. Jet was too charming and too charismatic and the way he was looking at him burned a hole in the back of his neck. He wasn't supposed to stay. He wasn't supposed to want to stay.

Taking a deep breath, he ignored the alarms ringing in his head and turned to meet Jet's level gaze. It was dark, still slightly glazed in the afterglow and ever just a little more piercing than it had any right to be.

"I meant it, you know. You're beautiful."

"I..." Spirits, what was he supposed to say to that? The alarms faded to a distant memory as quickly as they'd come.

Jet chuckled. "You make pretty sounds, too. No one'll be able to look us in the eye in the morning."

"Damn shame." Zuko's heart was fluttering, racing in his ears. No one here knew him. Not getting back to his father, not now, not ever. "They'll be missing out on seeing yours."

The laugh that earned from Jet was loud and a little hysterical. He felt a swell of pride at that. A different kind of pride, he couldn't quite explain it. He liked it, though. Felt warm instead of hot, giddy rather than strained. Good. Really good.

Zuko turned fully now, knees swinging up and under him to help nestle into Jet's body. He propped himself up on one elbow to admire his face, eyes half lidded and fond. A hand found its way around his waist. He didn't have any qualms about pressing into the touch now, with a contented sigh.

"You've got a clever tongue on you, sweetheart. I might be outmatched."

He felt a smile cross his face, alongside a soft blush. "Care to test that theory?"

-

**CHAPTER TWO**

Notes: mmmm Jet has an oral fixation and boundary issues and that is the tea

-

He'd done it right. Li was happy and warm asleep beside him, curled up against his body. He looked at ease in sleep. No trace of the distress he'd had earlier. Thank the spirits.

Jet had been so terrified that he'd take it too far, even before Li's episodes. With Li genuinely crying in his lap he'd thought that fear confirmed, tenfold and then some. But he had taken and taken it and begged for more — who was he to deny him? He knew how it could get. He knew how bad it could get, how sometimes you just needed to force all thoughts from your brain until you weren't in your past anymore.

Smiling despite himself, he thought he should probably feel used if he were to think of it in so many words. It was hard to feel used, though, with Li sated and sleepy and clutching him tight. He had his clear cheek pressed against his chest. Yes, Li had needed it, but he'd wanted it too.

The scarred cheek, meanwhile, was open to the cool air of the cabin, the slight chill that blanketed their bodies and soaked into his skin. He wondered if the nerve damage kept him from feeling it. If it stung in other ways than the biting cold, tightened or stiffened or ached. He'd tended to burns plenty before. An occupational hazard of living in this world. That didn't mean he'd ever worked up the courage to ask about it.

His hair was sleek and dark, cropped short enough that his widow's peak was on full display. Jet smiled to himself. He brought a hand to brush his thumb over the edge of his hairline, drawing back when Li shifted under the touch. It jutted out sharply at the crown of his skull. Not disheveled, not by any means, but harsh. Like it was gravitating towards singularity at the top of his head. He wanted to run his fingers through it.

Nothing about Li was disheveled. Sure, he was a refugee, they'd all been on this boat a little too long, but there was something in the way he held himself. Too proud, practically regal. Li was really fucking pretty like this, though. That tautness in his every muscle relaxed, melted into him, and pulled him close.

_Sweetheart_. Li had taken to the word like he'd do anything not to be called his own name.

Jet had half a mind to slide down Li's body, get his cock in his mouth until he woke up keening into the touch. He'd always loved sucking dick. Loved taking it, giving it, anything really, but this was something else. Another level. He loved how it felt on his tongue, hot and heavy and right. Wanted someone's fists in his hair, making him choke on it. Needed it, fuck.

He bit his lip and fought the urge. Too much. Too far. Glancing down at Li, fast asleep beside him, he slipped two fingers into his own mouth and pressed down just enough to imagine, just enough to take the edge off. He only sucked his thumb when it got really bad. That was when he needed to shut down and shut out the rest of the world. Now wasn't one of those times. If anything, he needed to ground himself in reality.

And what a reality it was. Li was practically wound around his body now, shifting ever so slightly to– spirits, he was _nuzzling_ him. Made him feel guilty for the fleeting thought. Even guiltier for half wanting to find Longshot and relieve the urge. He'd do it. He'd let him.

He'd always let him, they all had. They'd all seen how much he needed it. They took pity on him. Jet winced — another resounding loss for giving words to what didn't need them. He was 0 for 2 there.

The first time it'd happened, he'd been out of his mind with need, hadn't known what he was saying. Edging himself until he thought he might die. Until he was sobbing and it hurt, breathless and broken and pleading with nothing and no one but himself. Until, of course, there wasn't no one. There was Longshot.

Then there was Pipsqueak, and Sneers, and it wasn't healthy but it helped. Forced him to get out of his brain and his memories and his guilt. Replaced it with aching pleasure that he didn't deserve but he needed. It filled some gaping void in him. Left him gaping instead.

He never, never deserved the pleasure but he got off on the denial. Got off on bruises and blotches and tears because yes, he needed it, yes, it felt sharp and it hurt and that felt right. Callused hands all over his body, stretched and bound and perfect for them, for anyone who fucking wanted him.

Brow furrowing, he tried in vain to will the thought away. He'd never been particularly good at that. His cock perked to attention while his head spun with something between memory and fantasy. Jet was not doing this right now. He was not going to jerk himself off with Li at his side. Pressed against his skin. Warm and soft in all the right places, now, without the tension he'd carried every moment he was awake. Fuck. Too far. Too far. Li didn't deserve that.

Instead, he thought about Smellerbee's first night with them. Her grand first impression. How she'd fled, shrunken into herself, a tight, quivering ball, the wild fear radiating off of her. The others had left for their watch posts long before he found her, and something in the thick, heavy air had pushed him forward.

They didn't speak. All that night, neither of them said a word, but he knelt beside her all the while. She was shaking like a leaf, so frail then. He still felt a twang of guilt, of shame or something like it at the memory, and he thought he always would, no matter how many times she'd reassured him since. He didn't know what to say, then. He never did. It was a dangerous sort of ineptitude.

The times following were easier. He found the many, many risks through trial and error, made his way to a clumsy script to go off. Single focus, slow, steady breath, as little interference as could be achieved amidst a treetop troupe of adolescent vigilantes. He supposed the reward was a suffocating codependency that'd kept them tied together that long.

She was hardly the only one having these episodes. They all did, even him. Especially him. But he was the one helping, not the one helped, because they didn't need to see him like that. He learned how to cope himself. The fact that that later evolved into something more was happenstance. It was an escape. It always had been.

The messiest, most painful part of his life was spent entirely on the needs of his Freedom Fighters. He threw himself into being their fearless leader so he didn't have to be himself. He didn't have to be _with_ himself. He couldn't. There were mouths to feed, tears to dry, vengeance to exact. They needed a hero, not a person.

He'd hated it. Hated that he had to be an adult before he hit double digits, that he was expected to know what to do and when, expected to understand a world he'd barely entered. He supposed he should still hate it. It just was, really. Only now did he even have the time to spend resenting it. Only after the fact.

No way to change the past, he supposed. Just to run from it, run from the consequences until your legs gave out, and to live with whatever it taught you.

His mind wandered back to that day, how Longshot had been so gentle as he'd begged him not to be. To fuck him like he deserved, until he couldn't think anymore. Thinking wasn't good back then. Still wasn't, really. He was sucking actively on his fingers, now. Just enough. So much.

He knew it all came out of exhaustion and fear, and had a vague notion that it should be otherwise. Knew he'd taken advantage of the fact that they were all looking for easy answers. Antidotes. None of them were ever doing this for the right reasons, because what was really right didn't feel it.

It didn't heal them. It helped when crying didn't, when nothing else did. He still woke up sometimes sweating and aching hard, the lingering taste of them on his tongue. His cheeks would be flushed with arousal, and he could force himself to believe his skin stung from rough hands, that his dream-bitten lips were raw from being fucked.

It'd never felt comfortable. He'd never let it feel comfortable before. Fuck, it had just felt so right with Li. He hadn't let himself make a disaster of it, this time around, had pushed through his own twisted urges, made it all about him. That had to be an improvement, right? It'd felt perfect in a way that left him–

Wanting.

Damn it.

He'd learned to crave the empty full feeling, the need he felt for what he didn't deserve. The ache felt better than the pounding in his head. It gave him direction. Flooded his useless brain until the bad thoughts drowned in the ruined sea of nerve endings.

There was something so deeply wrong in that, he knew there was. Shit, though, the alternative was sitting with himself and knowing he shouldn't have survived. Knowing he should've done more. Knowing he should've burned with them and not left them to die alone and terrified. Every fucking option was better than this. He hadn't deserved to live through that. He felt his hand start to creep across his skin and scrunched it hard in the sheets. Ba Sing Se was his new start. If he was going to deny himself anything, it should be avoidance.

Li shifted beside him. He seemed happy. He seemed relaxed, like nothing was hurting him anymore, just for that moment. No shame, no burdens. Just a warm body and the silent weight of all of Jet's envy. A very, particularly warm body.

But–

Fuck, Li had sounded so scared. He could still feel the rapidfire beating of his pulse under his fingertips as he'd struggled to breathe. He couldn't have faked that. The frantic way he'd recoiled, gripped his neck like he was trying to rip himself apart. He was scared. He was scared like Jet was, felt the same terror and cold and hurt he'd seen so many times, the same he'd tried so hard to exile from the ones he loved.

Cold. He almost laughed, breathless and hysterical. Li was Fire. He fucking bent fire, and he had a burn scar eating away half his face. His stupid, beautiful face. Why would they do that to one of their own? Not that he didn't believe it of the Fire Nation, of course, the bastards.

Jet thought of the way he'd flinched afterwards, when he realized others might've heard. When he'd told him others might've heard. When he joked about it. Fuck. His gut twisted in a shame he couldn't quite identify. He couldn't feel guilty about making a fucking firebender suffer. Not after everything.

He looked at Li and shrunk further into himself, curling into the corner of the bed. The dissonance was making him nauseous. His thighs came snug against his chest and he fought the urge to cry. Failed. He slapped a hand to his mouth. The sob came out anyway, muffled and wheezing, his shoulders shaking violently. He pressed his back to the wall to still himself. Couldn't wake Li. Needed to think. A few more tears rolled down his face.

They hadn't deserved to die but if they did then he did and he thought Li did too. That didn't feel right. He hated that it didn't feel right. Since when did he get a fucking conscience toward the people who'd killed his family? His village? He couldn't let him hurt people, not like he'd been hurt. That he knew for sure. No one deserved to go through that. New starts be damned, that was his journey and his alone.

The little voice he'd tried so hard to rid himself of piped up in earnest. He had the upper hand. He knew something that Li clearly didn't want to get out. He was that something. He could use this. The nausea made itself a problem again, though, made him feel wrong and dirty. The way Li had looked at him flashed in his mind, eyes wide and scared and golden. He'd comforted him. He had done his damnedest to make sure a firebender felt safe.

That thought made him feel equally tainted. It went against everything he was, everything he'd made himself to be. He sat harder against the wall to try and catch his breath. His lungs were burning. His chest was tight. Too tight.

He was fucking naive to let his guard down in the first place. 

Jet thought, deliriously, that maybe Li had defected, that he'd gotten that scar in a valiant effort to take them down from the inside. Maybe then he could resolve this. Maybe then he could forgive himself for ever believing he could catch a break. He wasn't that fucking lucky. Close range burn, false identity? Fat chance.

He'd done some fucked up things and he knew he had to pay for that, but this? He choked down another sob. His skin crawled with the phantom touch of Li's careful, searching, seeking hands everywhere. Everywhere on him burned wrong with it.

It fucking figured. He knew it was dangerous to split. He couldn't protect them. Fuck, they'd probably get themselves killed. He couldn't do shit about it. He'd lost his say in whether they lived or died.

Jet thought with some disdain that he couldn't protect them if they'd still let him, anyway. Li was evidence enough of that. He could hardly protect himself.

It hurt to think of all this in the past tense, and he found bitter revelation in digging that blade a little deeper. They were gone, and he couldn't save them. He couldn't save them then and he'd never be able to. 

The thought grew louder, shrill, that he should use everything at his disposal. Firebenders deserved it. The Fire Nation deserved it. The ones who had slaughtered families, burned villages, and devastated the world didn't deserve mercy. If Li didn't want it getting out that he'd ridden a filthy Earth Kingdom boy like a desperate whore and liked it, that was a powerful tool.

But some stronger, sweeter voice gently reminded him of how deeply Li feared this. How that fear had wracked his body and destroyed his mind as he trembled in his lap. Every scar he'd ever suffered protested this voice, and still he listened.

Damn it, Li didn't deserve for him to exploit what had happened between them. Li was a human being. One raised under and into an oppressive regime, sure. One with the innate power to commit violence, certainly. But he was also a kid, scared and hurt and slow to trust. Li trusted him. What would it say about him to break that?

Maybe it was his overactive protective instincts, but– shit, they were both just kids. They'd both been hurt by the Fire Nation, albeit from radically different places. He breathed low, controlled, and purposeful. Li was trapped in his past the way he himself was. He was no different from anyone else he'd had to help through episodes. He cried the same tears, fought desperately for the same air.

With a pang, he pursed his lips hard. They'd be in Ba Sing Se come morning. He had time. He didn't have to figure everything out now, but he couldn't stay here.

Shaking, he clambered out of the singed sheets. He was all limbs. He had always loved the haze in the past, so utterly destroyed with pleasure. That feeling had soured now.

The sea air smelled like he'd just breached water, after so long crying.

Longshot tipped his head to one side, with something between a smile and a grimace that asked if he still needed it like he used to.

He shook his head. He didn't want that. He didn't. Even if he did, he didn't want to keep hurting Longshot that way by putting himself through that. He winced and took a step back. Could he ever really escape it? Would Longshot always have to look at him like that?

His face was illuminated, now, in the moonlight, and his cheeks glistened with still wet tears. Longshot could see his puffy eyes and shaking shoulders in all their glory. He nodded, understanding. Always understanding. He lifted the corner of the bedsheets in invitation.

Jet gratefully accepted. He crossed the room in a daze, until he could press himself into another body and still his pounding heart. Longshot held him close. He held him like he needed to be held, his last few tears soaking into his shirt.

He had stayed. So had Smellerbee. He could still protect them. No matter what happened with Li, he could keep them safe. He would keep them safe.

-

Zuko awoke to an empty bed that was anything but cold.

-

Notes: a motif? in MY writing?? it's more likely than you think

also Jet has two (2) brain cells that just fist fight each other

-

**CHAPTER THREE**

Notes: not to go off or anything but Zuko's lack of conventional politeness is a direct result of having grown up in an environment where if he showed any wavering in his manner he'd be manipulated into the other person's favor

-

Jet had every reason to tell the world they'd slept together. Zuko couldn't stop thinking it. Fuck, he'd had the opportunity to kill him if he wanted. He found it hard to imagine him not wanting to.

He'd known it was something only Li could have, and still it hurt. Jet had told him he wouldn't leave.

There was something wrong about his flooding panic at that thought. What was done was done. Jet left. He was no stranger to being left. He was no stranger to leaving.

Jet was justified in it, anyway. He didn't know why he'd expected anything different.

[Zuko recounts how he'd gotten up and off the boat feeling queasy, knowing from the singed sheets what had happened but not why Jet hadn't just killed him then and there, and grapples with that]

This wouldn't be his first time being forsaken. He was well acquainted with being disowned. He could take it. He thought he could take it.

His uncle was not his father, though. Uncle Iroh had taken him in when no one else would, when by all accounts he shouldn't have. He'd stayed by him when he lost everything, his honor, his rightful place, whatever scraps of dignity he'd salvaged in the eyes of his father. To lose that? To lose his last vestige, over this?

He thought that should hurt rather more.

His uncle didn't have to know. 

[Plus!! Plus!!!! That means they'll be parallels in that Zuko later frees Appa in a thrilling first act of defying his own trauma-induced need to prove himself to his father and repress his good and compassionate nature]

[He can't tell Iroh because that'd out him and he's not ready yet to risk abandonment from a second father figure]

[Have to include foreshadowing for Zuko's vulnerability to Azula's offer — the idea that he needs to please someone, to regain his honor in someone's eyes]

-

Notes: Iroh: go read up on your ancestors to understand yourself 

Zuko: okay all I found out was that they were gay

Iroh: :)

-

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Notes: oh.

-

"Did Jet just.. die?" Zuko seemed to have misplaced his stomach. He couldn't have. He couldn't be gone.

"You know, it was really unclear."

Waves of cold disbelief washed over him, chilled his bones and seeped into his flesh.

He didn't deserve to feel this way. He didn't know Jet like that. Grieving was for people with real connection, who were a part of their lives, not for a passing fling when they'd both gotten restless.

He didn't deserve to mourn someone he hardly fucking knew.

So why did it hurt so badly? 

-

He shouldn't. Sokka didn't need to know about this. No one did.

"Sokka?"

Don'tdon'tdon't. It didn't matter. It didn't fucking matter. He raised a tentative hand and knocked again.

The door opened under his hand. Sokka looked wary, and sleepy, and clearly fresh out of bed. He took a breath. "What do you need, Zuko?"

Need. He didn't _need_ anything.

"Can I talk to you about something?" About Jet, he didn't say.

Sokka's gaze softened, still, a knowing look that laid him bare. He nodded.

The walk outside was blanketed in a hazy delirium. He couldn't stay inside. Too much. It would suffocate him, and with his chest already tight he didn't need another reason to stop breathing. That hardly stopped him from getting tied up and dragged into his memory.

His father wasn't a loud man. He had a soft touch to his violence, quiet and calculated. But when he found him kissing another boy, down on the beach, just a peck, just a playful thing, the walls of this house shook. His mother locked herself in the bathroom and didn't come out for two days.

She couldn't save him. She couldn't save herself.

Every creak of the floorboards sent a jolt of nausea through his gut, but he tried to focus on the key difference that was Sokka. Not the painful history. Not the painful future. Here, and now. Him. Sokka didn't trust him yet, not truly, no one did, but that was fine. It hurt, but it was fine. Plenty hurt.

No one trusted him. He'd broken the one bond he'd always had. Everyone in the Fire Nation knew that now. Some bitter, sick part of him, though, took solace in the fact that it was action and not identity that lost him that generous trust. It wasn't a question of who he was.

When Sokka sat on the bench, he was not graceful, and Zuko thought that was okay. He didn't have Azula's unnatural, obsessive poise, or his father's power, or his mother's paralyzing fear, her gentility despite it. Sokka wasn't a part of this house's history, he was its present, and that was an overwhelming comfort. It pulled him back to the moment at hand. The conversation he was really about to have. Jet. Dead. Gone.

Right.

He sat beside him, too stiff and too much. 

"You two didn't exactly strike me as–"

"He and I spent the night together," he cut Sokka off. "On the ferry to Ba Sing Se." It sounded short and choked. He wanted to say more, needed to, but his brain had swiftly gone blank.

Probably would've gone over Sokka's head anyway. "Oh." Zuko could see the gears turning behind his eyes. " _Oh_."

"Oh," he nodded, watching as he processed.

Sokka was silent for a moment. The quiet got his heart going in his chest. "You'd think his case would've been stronger for you being a firebender, then. No offense, but you're not exactly the poster boy of impulse control."

"I think it was. I think–" Zuko pursed his lips, took a long, deep breath. "He was trying to protect me, or something."

"Protecting you by attacking you?"

"Maybe. I don't know." He buried his face in his hands. Breathing was bordering on painful with the strain in his throat. "I know it sounds stupid."

"No, that sounds like a Jet sort of thing to do."

He chuckled weakly. "It does, doesn't it?"

Sokka tugged one of his hands away and he carded the other up and through his hair. He moved closer. Their fingers laced together as he sidled up beside Zuko, suddenly stoic and uncharacteristically quiet. The casual intimacy was.. new. He leaned into the touch, just barely. Just enough that Sokka squeezed his hand like Jet had, warm and comforting.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

Zuko nodded, and licked his lips. Remembered Jet's, how easily they moved with his. "He knew–" he winced, and tried again– "He knew I was scared of people finding out. I mean, fuck that, I was terrified. Maybe he didn't know why, or the full extent of it, but–"

He trailed off. Sokka picked it up. "Your father?"

"Yeah," he said, voice soft, squeezing Sokka's hand tighter as his throat constricted painfully. The next breath he took was shaking, and slow. His father's voice echoed in the back of his mind. It was loud, and it hurt, even now. In. Two. Three. Sokka's eyes were locked on him.

He looked like he wanted to respond, but for once in his life he had no words. Zuko shook his head, giving a thin almost-smile. Hold. Two. Three. Out. He didn't quite know what he was shaking away, what he was denying. His heart slowed until it stopped pounding in his head. It was a while before Sokka spoke.

"Are you sure you're safe, here? I mean–" he gestured in a way that part of Zuko interpreted as 'mentally' and some larger part was convinced meant 'from yourself' or 'from losing it'. He determinedly took the former.

"My uncle told me it's good to see old wounds in a new light. It's helpful, I think." He pressed further into Sokka. "It's hard to move forward when you can't confront what happened."

"Just making sure."

"I know. Thank you."

Sokka's hands were softer than Jet's had been. Softness on all counts seemed to come more naturally to him than it had to Jet. Jet's was trained and precise like all of him was. He hated comparing the two. He couldn't help it, though. What he hated more was thinking about Jet in the past tense.

"He could've told the truth. The whole truth, I mean. He could've outed me for everything, but he didn't." He wasn't saying this to Sokka, per se, more giving voice to the unceasing mantra that'd plagued him since– that. All of that.

The same, or something similar, seemed to be true for Sokka. "You got through to him," he said, "Whatever happened between you two, he didn't believe you deserved everything he had against you. That's–" he laughed in disbelief before shaking his head. His words gained direction. "I mean, you saw him in the play. Colorful portrayal, but he, uh, had trouble with the whole restraint thing. Seeing things in shades of grey, and all that." 

He bounced their clasped hands for a moment. "I know he said he was trying to turn over a new leaf in Ba Sing Se. Maybe he was trying to get better." _New starts_. Sokka's head landed on Zuko's shoulder. "Wishful thinking, I know."

They were silent for another moment. Then–

"I hurt him."

"Yeah, I guess there's no getting around that."

"I never got a chance to explain myself." Fuck, how could he have possibly explained that? _Hey Jet, I know I lied and deceived my way into your pants, probably made you feel like shit for having let your guard down in the first place, but consider this: it was a really good fuck_. Didn't quite sound right.

"I wasn't exactly on great terms with him either. Ever, actually," Sokka muttered the last bit, almost resentful. He breathed low, and spoke lower. "But all we can really do is move forward. Honor their memory by not making the same mistakes."

Zuko felt his stomach clench, ever so slightly, at the word 'honor'. It felt tainted. Wrong. It'd held so much weight, his entire life, all of it entwined in hurt. He thought back to his uncle's words. Maybe he needed to take that power away from his past, and give it to his present. Put new light into the darkness. That sounded like something he'd say.

Even that didn't make him feel better, though, his gut twisting with guilt. Uncle Iroh was rotting in a Fire Nation prison and it was his fault. He caught Sokka's eyes on him again. He'd shifted slightly but was still leaning heavy against his side. The warm, solid pressure felt right. Really, genuinely right, in a sea of wrong crashing about inside him.

"He should've gone out fighting the Fire Nation. That's what he would've wanted, right?" Zuko leaned forward onto his elbows, dropping Sokka's hand. He was hunched forward. It didn't feel better, per se, but safer.

"Maybe, yeah. But he got us here. We had our differences, sure, but the war effort always came first with him. He'd have been happy to see us here, still fighting." Sokka placed his newly freed hand on Zuko's knee. "He'd be happy to see you here, fighting with us."

"Somehow I doubt he'd have been happy to see me at all."

Sokka's grip tightened on his knee for a moment before reaching out and carefully lacing their fingers again. Zuko straightened, but didn't sit up. Habit, maybe. "I've seen firsthand how far he was willing to go, at one point, to take revenge against the Fire Nation wherever and whenever he could. Trust me, the fact that he didn't kill you on the spot is evidence enough that he was trying to work through that."

"You really think so?"

"Positive."


End file.
